


Shadow Engines| Butterfly Masks

by NebulaViburnum



Series: Shadow Engines [2]
Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Awkward Romance, Bisexuality, Body Horror, Child Abuse, Demons, Depression, Drama & Romance, Drug Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Friendship/Love, Genetically Engineered Beings, Good Demons, Horror, Hurt, Hypnotism, Interspecies Romance, Love, M/M, Multi, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Mythology - Freeform, Norse Mythology - Freeform, PTSD, Pansexual Character, Psychological Drama, Psychological Horror, Psychological Warfare, Psychology, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Romance, Science, Sex, Spirits, Temporary Amnesia, pansexuality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-09-11 13:44:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 58,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8982313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NebulaViburnum/pseuds/NebulaViburnum
Summary: How do we study the abyss? Do you dare to fill it up with our own water? Waylon Park and Miles Upshur may be doing things differently but they are getting to the origins of the beast and the beast was always human not their shadow. The Walrider, Wallie, now in existential crisis is suffering. Can a poet soothe his soul? From existential crisis to understanding existences related to StoneHenge and Norse mythological realms and Nazca lines to Area 51, Waylon and Miles are going deeper into the rabbit hole and popping out all over continents. Pauline Glick is clawing her way to the top with the shadows of Danielle and Roxie Harrell on her trail. Darian is getting more impatient around things.  Who is Shirley Jackson? Carmen and Genevieve are on this mystery woman's trail. In the crosshairs is also Jeremy Blaire uncertain on what to do. And wearing these beautiful, butterfly masks, is it Darian Leitner or Billy Hope as they see the new version of Rudolf Wernicke? Abyss meet Black Hole. Begin Event Horizon.  [Sequel to Shadow Engines| Enigma Perception]





	1. Chapter 1

 

**Town Air**

 

Sometimes, he wondered about these people. They seemed so full of it. Sometimes they were full of life and other times they were full of bullshit. And he cursed them for both.

 

Because he didn’t know which one he fell under. And he wasn’t sure if he would like to know.

 

But, he was happy that the end of the day he had someone to rely on.

 

Or, so he told himself?

 

This is because he didn’t want to admit to himself that well he sometimes didn’t trust the closest, the nearest and dearest person he interacted with.

 

No matter how close they were — he had to admit maybe he was also his only friend — it just seemed like they were always a bit distant too.

 

Initially, he knew the fault was his. The other person was being so kind and cooperative that he felt enormously guilty at the fact that he felt they were ‘untrustworthy’ (is that the word?) and that he felt completely out of sync.

 

It was later onwards he started to hypothesise, though not with an immediate acceptance, that perhaps his person too was not so satisfied and the veneer of politeness was what it was. Though, at first, he said “nah” or “shut up man”, things like that, out loud or in his head. It was rude to think of others like that. Especially, his close one.

 

“There he is, daydreaming again.”

 

At this he looked up.

 

“Dude, come on, being Professor’s assistant is a demanding job. How come you become so well you know — absentminded?”

 

Hearing that he had to smile. This graduate student of his (sometimes like a rival) was always teasing him.

 

“So, Waylon Blaire, what’s your agenda today?”

 

“Nothing much Victor Dalloway.” He laughed, he found it somewhat an unusual ritual that this student sometimes greeted him with his full name. Or, was he just playing? Waylon looked ostensibly disturbed at this thought prompting the other to say: “Yup, you have something in your mind Professor Blaire. What is it?”

 

“Just call me Waylon.”

 

“Why? Blaire is also your name?”

 

“Yeah. But,” Waylon struggled a bit, he didn’t always like Victor’s persistent nature, the fact he seemed to inevitably blurt out things bluntly, at times rudely. Waylon wanted to scream that he didn’t have time for this bullshit. It was against protocols to be mean to students of course. Though the protocols were not always extending to students. Waylon knew there were rules that staff harassment, in any establishment, was to be met with immediate repercussions. However, Waylon also noticed because students paid for their educations that some got away with doing obscene things as much as the bullshit professors did. Not that he counted Dalloway’s insinuations on them as harassment. Yet, he did find the lack of courtesy wanting and wished some of his colleagues would say something. Waylon was sometimes a bit too shy. Professor Tuftbrooke can often told him that he did not like a person dabbling in history to be well too shy. History was not shy. History was brutal. Waylon answered math is shy and folklore was inexorably dense. That is because Professor Tuftbrooke, before teaching about World Wars and formation of new city-states, had been trying to be a math major and had been good with prime numbers. It was when he started a passion project which he wanted to do a cross-disciplinary PhD on that are prime numbers undeniably related to histories — and not just human histories, but histories of other lifeforms too — so he took up humans in a particular village during world war two, some mosses and a domestic cat’s lineage from around 1980s (so, not to have too much human intervention he stated). Well, people called him a loon and then decided that despite some interest in the project they couldn’t fund or be bothered by something that would take years to study that it would be a history in itself.

 

That is when he started getting ideas on history. Sure, he hadn’t completely an undergraduate in mathematics yet but Professor Tuftbrooke now became adamant and soon he had his major changed, studied in it and the rest was history, all the puns Waylon could think of, were intended.

 

“Well, because I don’t want you to always call me Blaire. By the way, genius,” Waylon’s voice took on an authoritative tone he did not know he had, “I am not a professor. You called me a Professor’s assistant and I help with the tutorials and deal with graduate students when Professor Tuftbrooke is away.”

 

Victor smiled a bit, “Okay, but no need to be forceful.”

 

Waylon blushed. He didn’t know where that came from. That forcefulness in deciding what he wanted. It felt like his own personal history. Though, he felt it was also from a different Waylon. Dammit, I am sounding like Professor Tuftbrooke going on about parallel lives, espionages and all the likes.

 

Waylon almost chuckled.

 

Professor Gordon Tuftbrooke was an interesting man. And he was the only colleague he went along with well and actually had a good time with. He was too shy and he hardly could be able to talk much about things. Waylon realised that the culture of the United Kingdom had markedly more differences than the United States of America. When Jeremy Blaire and he got married, after two months he had announced he had a job position for a company he worked, a small once with association with a multinational called Volsung,  and had decided to relocate him in their firms in a small town in the UK. Waylon had been reticent. He felt this was a form of cleavage though he couldn’t remember why and another thing he couldn’t explain. It felt like a form of uprooting. And, he wasn’t happy with this at all. But he did rationalise it that as they were a gay couple would it be okay and Jeremy looked at him with “They are just going to the UK not to Mars.” But then laughed and said of course it was. Though, Jeremy asked if he should not go. And this is one of the few times Waylon recollected his husband being terribly upset. As if expecting something from him? A denial? A stark “no”? Or, something. And what that something was Waylon didn’t know. And it annoyed him and he had acted like a good husband and spouse saying he wanted Jeremy to expand his horizons and do better, which was partly true. He didn’t decide to talk anymore on his reservations. Because inside he was becoming furious. The bottled rage almost made him bit his tongue to bleed. It was like Jeremy knew something and he didn’t want to tell him what he knew.

 

“You know what is forceful?” Waylon gritted his teeth in front of Dalloway, though Victor looked a bit concerned, “Trying to force all those vacant math numbers and history. It makes no sense what your dissertation supervisor sometimes does. He is pretty well resolute in doing those things.

 

“Well, I know you hate mathematics. In fact, Gordon told me that you also hate computers, is that right? That you only like the email and hate social networks of any kind and that you are positively flummoxed by the fact that people could have avatars online. I also heard once you snapped at a computer programmer, for what you feel was talking gibberish.”

 

Waylon blushed hard now. Who is talking about that in the department? Maybe everyone…Waylon blushed a bit deeper. This was way too odd! Not to mention he had no idea what else they talked about him in the department. Then he sighed: “I guess they don’t speak about my husband.” He scratched his nose a bit. Waylon’s spectacles were at times high powered but he enjoyed they were actually half-cat’s eye and thick rimmed. The elegant obsidian of them made his grey eyes sharper — he would say even look more intelligent — he saw his husband, Jeremy Blaire, look at him admirably at times when he was cleaning his glasses. “You look beautiful in them, Waylon.” The sound of Jeremy’s compliment soothed him. He was nourished by these little titbits of affection between them. It felt from a genuine place. Jeremy and he had a small gulf. Sometimes, Jeremy and he got along so well that Waylon remembered why he married him. Other times…he wasn’t so sure…this thought really scared him. Though…he clearly wasn’t sure why. Jeremy was his love right? After his accident — Waylon had been told about the unfortunate accident — Blaire stated that it left some of vision impaired and that for a while he was paralysed. Jeremy stated that they had only been friends first. In fact, they had not been very good friends.

 

“I was having a bad stint at work.” Jeremy tried to smile, but gave a laugh which to Waylon seemed somewhat forced if not entirely, “Truth is.” Jeremy got a bit quieter, “I always kinda found you annoying. So, initially, as a bastard I was happy you were in an accident Waylon.” And Waylon saw Jeremy got instantly ashamed, “But I was almost getting fired from my old job as an executive director in a high scale company called Ironsmith. Then I heard about who you lost in the accident and I got kinda…well, I realised you were all alone. So, I visited you once. You were almost in a comatose state. But when you saw me you got mad and spit on me.” Jeremy looked so sad then, “The doctor said that was a good sign. See, when you were married to your first wife I made a rude pass at her and belittled you at a party. You still remembered that. So, when you saw me the shock at that incident must have made you remember what I said to Lauren all those months ago and spitting at me was payback. I was furious of course. I was like ‘Yeah, this guy better become a vegetable.’ Yeah, Waylon, I was a douchebag and still kinda am. But something about you spitting at me made me really happy. I don’t know why. I was a fucked up guy whose job was getting fucked up. Yet, when I saw you in a state of paralysis, fighting for your life, couldn’t eat or shit by yourself but still having the audacity to spit on me I was _impressed_ , fuck, I was _amazed_. Here, you were telling me to fuck off and I got blue balls and couldn’t even keep my position straight in a company. So, I kept on coming to visit you. You spit on me each time. I think even some of the nurses dubbed me Spittoon Romeo. Though at that time they had no idea right? That I was a kind of a Romeo. Neither did they know or did I know. I was being an impish prick to you. I just wanted to see how long you would keep at it. I wasn’t going to confess that getting spit at it by you was the highlight of my day, my month, my life.

 

“Well, you spit me at over 40 times. Yeah, you spit on me more than once in many visits. The doctors stated that when I came along you had the highest muscle and brain activity and encouraged me to come; though a few would ask what the fuck I did to you that you got so mad. Of course, I told the truth and many of the doctors, especially the male ones, would look at me kinda pissed off too. No man, or woman, would like a rude pass being made at their wife. I kinda threw champagne on your face in that party Waylon. After you went to try to defend your wife. No wonder you were pissed. Anyways, I was getting what I deserved didn’t I? I was hanging by the skin of my teeth in Ironsmith and getting spit by you like more than once during visits. You were like this weird Llama that I just found on somewhere and decided to spit at me. After a while, either your rage abated or you wanted to ignore the shit outta me. You stopped spitting at me. This made me mad as fuck as you can imagine. Once, when you didn’t spit at me like six days in a row I went home and literally broke a cabinet. So, I had to come back to the hospital to get splinters out and bandage my hands and all. I was looking forward to you being angry at me. Like some sadomasochistic pervert I was just waiting for you to be like angry at me. The doctors were now telling me not to come. They feared I was depressing you. I was literally losing it! So, I did the one thing I could think of as the last effort in the battle to keep your interest. I got you a stuffed Llama. I got you that instead of a teddy bear. I tied a red bow on its neck too. You took one look at it. And you started laughing. And you laughed…and you laughed…then you spit on me and grabbed my face…and punched my lights out. You said, ‘That’s for my wife.’ Then you called out her name. Then you kinda smiled. As you expected. You knew she wouldn’t call you back. Then you started crying. Sobbing. A bit loud. I went and held you. And then you kissed my cheek and thanked me. Waylon, it was a friendly kiss. You and I didn’t think much of it. I was pretty emotional myself. I went to work and gave new suggestions, told my board off respectfully and tried to turn my life around. I felt if you could laugh and spit at me after those horrible loses there was no point in sitting in my ass and doing nothing. You inspired me to be great.”

 

Usually, when Jeremy talked about this memory of them together — as Waylon was an amnesiac who forgot many things prior to the crash — he cuddled close to Waylon. “You know Waylon, we didn’t start out as friends. We started off less than enemies and then we become enemies when you were fighting for your life. Then we started to become friends. After a while, I realised this was kinda _it_. I was a bit surprised. I was not that interested in guys much before you aside a quick tussle of that kind,” Jeremy winked and Waylon in his arms blushed, “I usually dated girls. But, you inspired me so much more so than anyone ever did. Your fight to live and your spit caught my soul.” Usually, Jeremy kissed Waylon deeply at this moment, by instinct, by impulse, inherently it was irresistible to not, not kiss at that point, “I was a bit afraid. I mean I am a man and you were married to Lauren before. So, I proposed to you while you were doing some physiotherapy, as in walking slowly in the gardens of the hospital. You immediately said ‘yes.’ I was really shocked. You said you wouldn’t have gotten grieving without me and that is the best gift anyone could have given you. And, so, we got married after two weeks and you know here we are Waylon Blaire. You insisted on taking my name. I was happy to give it to you. After all sharing my family name with you was a honour you gave me by wanting it.”

 

“What was my name before that again?” Sometimes, he would ask that question.

 

“Uh, you try to push it away. It was Clarke. You don’t wanna think of it, or Lauren or…Dan. Dan was-is your son. Dan was gonna be thirteen. You miss him and your wife a lot —“

 

“Forget I asked.” Waylon starts crying, “I was driving that car —“

 

“Waylon it was a rainy night. It wasn’t your fault.” And Jeremy held him close in those episodes where he broke down and suddenly…almost unexpectedly, he felt he was being sedated…and then he would wake up next to Jeremy or his husband in the kitchen making breakfast for them. If it was Saturday, Jeremy said, if he wanted to sleep after the breakfast. Sometimes, with some absurd _resignation_ , he would ask if Waylon wanted to make love. This response wouldn’t always make Waylon angry. The times it did Jeremy stated that he felt he was taking _advantage_ of Waylon. When Waylon asked how; Jeremy almost looked scared and then said that it was because of why he broke down. Other times, Waylon felt a bit euphoric and a bit aroused and gladly made love with his husband. Both ways.

 

“Nah, aside that homophobe Peter Everglass no one ever states anything than a sickly adorable face about you being in a marriage with another man.” Victor laughed, his hair silkily framing his face. Waylon half-blushed when he realised that Victor looked cute and that got so easily flirty with him. “Though,” Victor edged closer making Waylon almost jump and wanting to tell him off at this kind of behaviour, “You know I bet all you have to do is tie Peter in the public bathroom and he would gladly suck and swallow your cock whole and be your little fuck toy. The fucker acts it but he would eagerly want your cock being fed all of him.”

 

“Victor,” Waylon looked almost enraged, “You can’t talk like that. I am faculty and speaking of faculties is this okay? You are too close to me and I know Everglass is a homophobic piece but you can’t just casually say all of that.”

 

“Sorry Professor.” Though Dalloway didn’t look that apologetic much to Waylon’s explicit annoyance, “I guess I get carried away at times.” The smooth British accent laced with a playfulness voluptuous in mischief and sexuality that could be like an aroma-bomb rippling on the atmosphere like nodes on water. Waylon’s annoyance turned to a full deep scarlet blush as he realised that Victor was just too innuendo-latched for his own good.

 

“Victor, I will accept your apology…” Waylon closed his eyes, a frown etching his eyebrows, “When you are more presentative of it and authentic.” It was almost a snap.

 

Victor’s calm was broken and he looked seriously taken aback, “I am sorry Mr. Blaire.” He almost well got startled by the display of that small fury. Then smiled, “You know if you put in more hours and finish your PhD I think you too will be a Professor in no time. I am sure you decided on starting a PhD yourself soon, am I right?”

 

At this, Waylon calmed and smiled, “Yes, I am not completely sure about the subject yet. So, I hit some of the history books.”

 

“I will be expecting to see what you made of.”

 

Waylon looked a bit confused.

 

Why did that sound so strange?

 

What was he made of?

 

Sometimes he didn’t know he was?

 

Many kilometres away or miles away another man who had Miles etched into his name looked up.

 

He was in bed alone. A swarming mass of black was near the window and staring into the sun.

 

“Don’t look into the sun too much. You will hurt your eyes.”

 

The Walrider looked disdainfully at Miles Upshur but Upshur didn’t care. Next to him was the big body of Tom DuPont. Tom was still snoozing softly. Contrary to popular belief, it was the last touch of sun now. It was not early morning. It was nearing the evening. But Miles was exhausted and so was Tom. They had been traveling a bit. This was the second move after the first one since the incident over a year ago at the lodge. They had made a good enough life at a small town. Though, that picture postcard would not last. They knew that. Though their bones and fibre felt different. Miles had been meaning to talk to his father. Though, he didn’t know where and how to start. In his head he went through some scenarios. “Dad, I wanna talk about some of the cats…”, “Dad, did you give those cats to Murkoff…?”, “Dad, what happened to Spud…?”, “Dad, were those cats, the start of project Walrider?” but he didn’t know if anything was good enough to start with. His heart felt empty. These days the Walrider looked a bit darker (was that possible?) and more sinuous than he used to be. Wallie was also stopping responding to his name and just wandered around. Sometimes, for days he would disappear. Tom said that maybe he went to hunt deer. Miles said as long it was not people he didn’t know how he could stop the Walrider. Miles had stopped even calling Wallie, Wallie. There were times he just called him, literally, “Walrider.”

 

Under his breath, Miles sobbed a bit, one of the quietest moments of emotion he would, could, allow himself: “Waylon, where are you?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter is a bit disjointed. It is my bad. I am traveling. Also, I needed to start something. I will definitely improve from the next. I just needed to start this story with something. I will tell you when I originally thought of Shadow Engines I didn't think it would come to this. But I am happy that I could add this twist. Stories evolve and I am happy that mine did as well. Yeah, Waylon is married to Jeremy :( it is a sad predicament and he was captured. Well, hope people who read the first will keep on reading the sequel! :D  
> (finished this chapter listening to "Radioactive" by Imagine Dragons with Kendrick Lamar I love how they intro Lamar that music bit is epic!)


	2. Psychopathological Proximity Stress Disorder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is almost 14k long. It is around 13,924 words long. If I wrote less in the last chapter I wanted to make it up to everyone and just go for it. I also wrote this chapter on a new computer so first for that too. New Year Present. Happy New Year everyone :) I tried to incorporate many people in this chapter as you guys might be curious what has been happening. Hopefully all of you will enjoy

 

 

**Psychopathological Proximity Stress Disorder**

 

Waylon came back home and was hoping to meet with his husband, Jeremy Blaire. And to his good fortune the other man had come early and he could see his study light on and vapours of latte coming out of the window. The combined wages of both of them made them afford a good property in the United Kingdom and a smaller house in London. Though the wealth seemed to stagger Waylon still. There was the feeling that at one point in life he was poor and struggling to make ends meet. He wondered if that was a time with Lauren and his son? Or, was it before that? The thought still troubled him because he couldn’t remember how he remedied, or attempted to remedy his poverty…he just remembered getting a job somewhere far away…able to support his wife and two sons…this was what got to him…always mistaking the number. He has — or had, that horrible fixing of grammatical syntax from the present to the past, as if that chapter could ever easily close itself — one son. A beautiful boy who was almost thirteen. Had he not argued with Lauren about finances in the car that day… he would still be alive…Lauren would be as well…Would Lauren like his new wealth? Was she threatening to divorce him for his poverty? Jeremy didn’t know. Neither did he remember even if he once had known. Was his wealth an admonition from her? You have all of this now. But, you don’t have any of us? Well, he had Jeremy… Lauren didn’t seem to be a cruel type of person. Not so malicious. He felt it strangely. Though he hardly remembered even what she looked or smelled like. Never could he remember what her habits were either.

 

Waylon adjusted his glasses.

 

These lapses of memory made him feel less human so he decided to not bother with them. At least for now.

 

He was human. He had a mate and a husband; his name was Jeremy Blaire and he had done almost a maiden’s thing by adopting his name like a weight of wealth and identity in itself. Though he didn’t necessarily regret it (as Clarke made him shudder) he wondered what Lauren would have thought about him changing his name. Did Lauren felt odd too changing her own maiden name? Did she change it? What was her maiden name…sometimes the title Callaghan came up in his head; as a blurred image, a frosted fingerprint, melted away by time and ruined by overshadowed fingers prying over files…though he was sure Lauren’s last name wasn’t that.

 

That was when Waylon realised that he was standing in front of the doorway for almost fifteen minutes (he had checked his watch) and was in this deep reverie. So deep he hadn’t noticed Jeremy in front of him; who had opened the front door to let his husband in.

 

Jeremy Blaire wore a kind smile, his actions of holding frame looked tender and understanding, his body emanated warmth and a form of motion as if he anticipated a hug. The visage, which seemed to have always executed a sneer, was now seemingly well suited also for kindness: “Dear, darling Waylon. Are you okay?”

 

The word “darling” sometimes made Waylon really mad. Or, it used to. Once, he has an “episode” in the kitchen. Jeremy had called him “darling” and he had gone on a strange rage he didn’t remember anything about. Until he was over and Jeremy was half-drenched in tea, shaking, picking up china pieces, with trembling fingers and looking far away. When he tried to help, Jeremy had half-punched him leading to Waylon, God knows why, instinctively slap him. And they had a screaming match with Jeremy calling him a loon and a disgusting piece of shit and some choice words from Waylon, in tears, at Jeremy. They slept separately that night. Or, part of it. Halfway through, before dawn, Jeremy came to his bed in the guest room and held him. At first, Waylon wanted to struggle but then Jeremy apologised over and over until Waylon broke down in tears and apologised too. Waylon broke down so hard that Jeremy just kept on saying “shhhh” and then soon they enveloped each other in kisses (Waylon felt odd about it) and they made love. In the morning Jeremy made breakfast (smiley sausage as a lip and eggy eyes) and all seemed to have been forgotten.

 

Though, Waylon himself was confused. All Jeremy did was call him “darling.” What was inherently so negative about such an endearing term? He couldn’t remember the moment but he remembered this horrible feeling, horrible emotions welling up inside him of being  _chased_  and being called  _darling_ but it was the acknowledgment of something predatory and completely, unforgivingly homicidal. The thought seemed crazy and completely out of his reality. Though, Jeremy explained he had faced some severe trauma and that it was natural to feel anything normal can be negative. Even if that was so — Waylon wondered how he visualised such a weird skeleton of being chased and such in the semiotic association of the word “darling.” It was all too strange for comfort so he radically decided not to ponder on it any further.

 

“I…” Waylon wanted to start. He felt ashamed at his incompetence to hold attention at times after his tragic accident. He got exhausted easily and he also felt terrible migraines. He felt it must be so stressful for Jeremy to tend to such a complicated partner. He wondered why such a fit man put out with him. But there were so many times he felt grateful that he did. “I…” Waylon was having a hard time finding the words. This happened to him now as well. He looked at Jeremy’s kind and loving face filled with such a graceful patience that he felt sick in putting him through this.

 

“I didn’t know if I should come home early or just stay at work —“

 

He couldn’t finish as he felt Jeremy Blaire just grab him inside and kiss him. “Oh darling Waylon. Dear, sweet Waylon.” And hugging him closer, he said, “You scatter-brained intellectual. Do you have to second-guess coming home?”

 

It was how he said the word “home” that made Waylon feel those waves of uncertainty on him. Was he home? Why did home smell like a scarlet lipstick dipped with candy lip Baum…or, the smell of coffee, pages and a brown…yes, brown leather jacket cosied within a starch smelling shirt? The first one he could surmise that it was Lauren’s…what of the _other_? He was sure he never saw or felt that material on Jeremy…Had he had male lovers he wasn’t aware of…? The thought made him a bit uncertain. Hopefully, he wasn’t _cheating_ on Lauren and that is what…what got him to fight with her in the first place?

 

Waylon adjusted his glasses once again. Though this time he needed to balance and shift his hands around the strong back of his husband. “Well, I was bored. I was hoping you would break out earlier than usual.” Jeremy smiled.

 

The word “break” and the other “out” suddenly made him see paint daubs in his eyes…Rorschach? What were these films? It was like they were rolling: rolling and his irises rolled too. They caused a headache. “Waylon…” Jeremy touched him and cradled him softly. The voice felt distant and somehow made him…mad…

 

“Shut up Blaire!”

 

The sudden outburst with a push made Jeremy hit the coffee table. And without any further notice he gave a short slap to the face of Waylon Blaire.

 

They both looked at each other. Both alarmed. And both trying to find a weakness to pin the blame. Waylon looked shocked and clutched his face. Jeremy, looking less so, just rubbed his back.

 

“I’m—“

 

“I think it’s best if we don’t make any lame attempts at apologies okay.” Jeremy looked angry for a moment, but then he looked at Waylon, he approached him and caressed his cheek, by removing his husband’s hand and putting on his own, “Look, you relax in your study or couch and I get dinner ready okay. We can have what you want. Seriously, I will cook anything.”

 

Waylon would have insisted helping but Jeremy seemed to want this duty for space for himself and the ability to just be as he was: soon, they would find the right words for each other again, “Okay, I want pasta, with rich creamy white sauce but some naked ones on the side to dip with red chilli sauce, barbecue like on the side.”

 

Jeremy smiled. The smile was a bit weak and vacant. Yet, Waylon chose to ignore this. He didn’t want to start another episode or whatever-the-fuck it was that happened to him just there — with the Rorschach blots, the feeling of rage towards his husband as though he was an _interloper_ and the feeling of a lost voice calling out to him — albeit _angrily_ … an inky voice, desperate and so sinister now as if wishing to forgo all of its humanity to get what it wanted. Was, the voice, _human_ , or, was it a ghost?

 

While he spaced out Jeremy had given him a quick kiss on the cheek and went to cook what he wanted. Waylon huddled himself into a foetal position in the couch. There was a listlessness in him. Many a times his home felt like a battlefront and well, it didn’t feel as calming as he thought home should be. Not to mention he pined for the smell of papers, leather and red lipstick. And he also pined to see blotted paper. He bought stationery like Staedtler fine point just to see the darker colours bleed on pages of both white and lined pages. And he would smell them. Hoping that one of the pens would mimic this smell of certainty and care. Of feeling loved and being in the woods. But he got nice pen smell. New. Rich. Inky. Just not the froth on his mind.

 

And this always bothered him so much. He didn’t understand why it did but it did. And he looked and smelled his leather shows near his coffee in the morning. The smell was somewhat there. The other half, like a syllable to some voice box, a distinct fingerprinted material by itself. And his heart wished to lunge at it and embrace it. And none of them wore lipstick. So, that sweet, half-warm, half-cool lipstick smell was far from being in a laboratory of his own making.

 

Jeremy burned some of the pasta. His sauces tasted a bit bitter (red) and curdled a bit (white). Waylon still ate like a champion. He was hungry. And he knew Jeremy sucked at cooking. Wasn’t the best. He burned noodles, lasagne missed layers and sometimes portions looked like charcoal, he was barely decent in cooking pasta. Actually, he succeeded with pasta more or less when he put his mind to it. His mind wasn’t in it. “So, is this punishment for the sudden outburst?” The snarkiness towards his husband came out and he was seriously shocked. Waylon didn’t understand why he acted like this with him. He was even reserved with that at times brat Victor Dalloway. But Jeremy made him tick a bit _wrong_. He wondered why. This man was his husband and he was a bit on disability and this man loved him and didn’t judge his lapses of memory, his spaced-out vibes or the fact he got horrible erratic mood swings. Jeremy and he argued but Jeremy seemed to always try to keep his wits about him.

 

Jeremy looked tired now. Then his eyes got bloodshot: “Yeah, kinda is you little punk. Keep your damn mouth shut okay. None of this would have happened if you just kept your mouth shut!” his words suddenly got higher octave towards the end making Waylon shift a bit in his chair. The enraged one was usually him. The imbalanced one, or so he called himself, and thought. Jeremy usually laughed at him when he snapped. It made him angrier at times. Other times he knew Jeremy was teaching him a well-deserved lesson of showing he was being a douche and was not being taken seriously.

 

Waylon kept quiet. As requested. And he swallowed some large parts of his meal in chunks. Tears were settling near his eyes. Was it humiliation? Regret? Anger? Or, just plain old boring sadness? He wasn’t sure…

 

He spaced out for a bit.

 

And then he saw him push someone. That someone was wearing a jacket and a dark grey tee — not shirt — and he was mouthing off at him and the other guy was mouthing off as well. Then…they embraced. Sentiments and emotions exchanged. So easily. Like a sleeve filtered all their bad and the jewels remained to be drunk. Waylon nursed the memory as a small child, or as inspecting a diamond and he realised how much he missed the comfort of that space of communication; where things did not ambiguously trail off, begin, end or even have a no-tag origin.

 

Deep in thought, Waylon didn’t feel the caring arms of Jeremy Blaire, who had getting up from his seat to hug Waylon. For a moment, Waylon felt the warm blood behind him, knowing it was Jeremy, but the scene of familiarity and nostalgia quickened in his own pulse and he held a hand on the arms. In need of severe love and affection, “Sorry, babe.” Jeremy crooned his neck and face into Waylon’s chestnut locks, “I am sorry for being a bitch. Sometimes, I forget how hard it is for you.”

 

“That’s okay.” Waylon smiled, gripping Jeremy’s arms lovingly, “I am always being a bastard to you ain’t I? If you and I switch places in this nightmare rollercoaster ride, what’s the big deal?”

 

“Stop it babe.” Jeremy nuzzled in deeper, voice partly muffled, “You know the psychiatrist said maybe I proposed too soon. But she also said that if I did it a moment away it would be too late too. Some sand pit and some hour-glass huh, both stick to the feet and hurt.”

 

Waylon felt waxing metaphors not Jeremy’s usual repertoire. However, this time felt nice. And he nuzzled into those arms too. He felt so safe. He got a stiff one.

 

“And what is this?”

 

“Jeremy…”

 

Waylon felt his organ being caressed through fabric and becoming attentive.

 

A part of him felt twisted. Another, was eager for an embrace. How could he be so conflicted about his husband and love?

 

For once he didn’t want to think what was “right” or “wrong.” The conversation with Dalloway had tired him and all these circumstances, coming home, fatigued him even more. So, the only thing to do was to just get a good lovemaking session; with a trusted partner. Yet, there came a heaviness in his chest — no! This was not his time to think! It was his time to feel and do! To just let go!

 

“Jeremy…” He mouthed his name willingly now making the other male softly edge closer, cup his face partially with one hand, go in for a searing kiss. Unbuckling Waylon’s jeans deftly, Jeremy stroked it once, twice — then went down on Waylon. Each sucking motion, noise and pull made Waylon writhe in his chair. They were still at the dinner table, all of this seemed inappropriate — good! A part of him screamed and he didn’t understand why… but he slowly bucked his hips to contain the rhythm of Jeremy’s glorious mouth twitching and moving and thrusting with each angle. It was pure bliss as he came in his husband’s mouth. Waylon then forcefully, then toning down to a gentle motion, grabbed Jeremy’s pants (which thankfully had no belt, he had time to unwind) and the trousers moved down a bit and  before Jeremy could rid himself of them he felt Waylon’s mouth stroke, pull, play with his balls and look up at his wife with such a mischievous and rebellious look, eyes skewed, half-glare with cockiness that Jeremy felt the pre-cum just ejaculate itself in Waylon’s mouth. Jeremy trembled. He shuddered as Waylon prolonged each thrust of his mouth, each swallowing, as a critical gesture, sometimes half-bending his mouth here and there to push in different angles. Jeremy was losing it. He tried to sit down for support at the adjoining chair and almost slipped because he could felt some of his juices fell on the wooden chair. Mentally reminding himself he had to fucking clean that later Jeremy groan — then scream and grabbed, intensely, not forcefully, as he just released all he had. He had swallowed Waylon’s thus the other man, sensuously, returned the favour, licking his mouth and chin, with a protruding tongue and letting some drop on his fingers to be licked.

 

“Waylon…” it was a throaty moan, half gazing and intent with all his ambitions. _Finally, I have you_ , Jeremy though, _Fuck! I AM SUCH A LOSER!_

 

With that thought they kissed as a crash. And a storm, with nails, cocks, balls, tongues and chest started.

 

* * *

 

The Walrider looked quietly in an ocean of black.

 

It looked pretty out of it. Staring blankly.

 

And it didn’t seem like the “him” it had become. It was not learning anymore. What it had learned it was trying to dispose. Through a cellular form of implosion…only to be interrupted by a thought — no! a voice!

 

And Wallie he felt out of his self-annihilating nightmare and looked around. He was near the new forest he had started patrolling. The forest was next to this almost no-name town that he and Miles had come up with Tom DuPont. He didn’t bother learning his exact location. The surroundings were lush, some brown leaves indicated a shifting of seasons, a fresh stream was nearby as he could feel by the splashing murmurs of moving water and the pulse and feel of it — no, he would not be seduced by nature again. Yesterday, he had killed a bunch of fireflies. Just shredded them while they glowed. It was  a moment of rage. Then, he felt so remorseful that he gave wrapped them in leaves and put them neat some stones. What he could find of them in the splinters of webbed wings, tiny feet and eyes.

 

Wallie was enraged that he could not rid himself of language. Billy had been mostly thoughts, dismembered words, impulses and muscle signals — this Miles Upshur was all conversation. And, how he hated it now.

 

The Walrider and Miles Upshur did not get along anymore.

 

So much were their distance that Wallie was now only referred to his name by Tom DuPont. Nor else, Miles called him Walrider and he reverted calling him Upshur or human.

 

Ever since Waylon had left them; things weren’t the same. They wouldn’t be. Wallie constantly broke branches, rocks and threw dirt with Miles doing the same if they got into an argument. DuPont sometimes could stop them but other times he tiredly watched them screaming out bogus points as Wallie and Miles went at each other. They would tear each other’s flesh, which would burn but then heal enough as they were bonded, scratch and maul, and choke and thwart. Nothing seems to work when DuPont tried to lecture them. Initially, he didn’t want to bring up Waylon Park. Then, gradually, he did. Effectively using that man’s identity, scent, aspirations, hair, nose, face, eyes, body and anything that could make them feel that they had to continue being nice to each other or try to because Waylon could be out there somewhere and he needed them a lot. And that is why they had to be on their best possible behaviour. Which usually meant still a few small cuts, one or two deep and wide and a barrage of insults to go with the order. Other times, mentioning Waylon did not stop the seemingly inevitable way that the Walrider and Miles fought because of how angry they were at the other. The fact that Waylon had been taken away or even worse dead because of their incompetence and that would not be forgotten for a long while.

 

Wallie did not know how to cry. He had seen it. He had seen it in various people, in various TV shows and also on photographs. However, he couldn’t do it as of yet.

 

What would his tears look like? Would they look like human tears? All transparent, crystalline, with a mixture of glassy effects and rough contours? Or, would they be like his body? Greyish with a lacing in obsidian? Well, human bodies were not crystalline yet their tears were…there was no guarantee his tears would look like his body. Though, he was not _human_ …It did not matter. He didn’t wish to be _human_ in the slightest. His rage came on and Wallie’s body was now burning in its white and black mesh. _Humans, are **weak** , if Miles has been stronger, Waylon would be here…it’s almost a year and all we did was talk to personnel of VERA Leaks and sites like that…there is no trajectory we will find Waylon…there is no indication…he is alive…No, I can’t think like that! I felt something right now! It was so familiar! Was it, was it Waylon? But it seemed so far away…I don’t know, how would Tim DuPont phrase, hold communion with the dead or something…? Was, was Waylon trying to reach out to me…the pulse was faint…maybe later on…what should I do later on...?_

 

Wallie looked on. Hearing his thoughts echo like water he could feel faintly in roots and veinlets of the surrounding vegetation. He wondered where he belonged. He was engineered in a way. To be a weapon. To a have a host to depend on. And his hosts were usually meant to be human. So, if they were supposed to be human the humans of today do not really live in the woods. Well, not the people who wanted community anyways. Well, mainstream community. Miles had once, when they had been in that lodge, talked of vast communities living one with the forests still. However, now he and Miles discussed nothing. Unless it was about food and lodgings they had nothing to discuss. A gap with no bridge had found itself between them and no matter what Tom DuPont spoke no one paid attention to his pleas.

 

There was a rupture between Wallie and Miles for a year and it was seeming like it was going to stick.

 

Wallie remembered he once did something like sobbing, or was it really sobbing? And when he had it was at a moment of crisis. He has not looked at what his tears had looked like then. Now there is no Waylon. No chance of conflict or comfort seemed to exist without him, Miles and the others. Eddie Gluskin was…far away too. All the people divided — a unrepairable cleavage seemingly assaulted their merry band of people.

 

Eddie had no qualms with him. Or, seemingly didn’t seem to mind him much. Well, initially he had been hostile and threw a small, old TV at him. “You inky slut!” He had yelled most ferociously, “You can tear up people who do no shit! Cows who just stand around! Why the fuck did you not protect Waylon?!”

 

The accusation was carved into his inky flesh. Obviously, he was not a solid like humans but he did take _shape_ and a shape could have a solidified wound on it — carved to perfection.

 

Later onwards, even Eddie just asked him normal question and inquiries about Waylon. There was no true “how have you been?” or “what have you been learning?” Both Eddie and Miles had stopped treated him as a sentient being. They were acting like complete apathetic assholes. In retaliation, he too looked at them as ancillary blobs of meat; fetid and replaceable: just for his use like old-fashioned condoms. Yes, he looked at them like contraceptive devices not as people anymore. Contraception against a form of paralysis to his being, a form of death. He had threatened to leave Miles and they usually fought. Miles had wanted to say “good riddance” and Wallie had said he would leave a hole, a new asshole to shit from — leading them to break furniture, cutlery and all other objects. Tom, despite his huge size, would cower, scream, yell for them to stop, just shake and hide waiting for the nightmare. The tall man looked like a neglected child waiting for his “parents” to stop their abuse, stop this violence by proxy towards him and just wait out the tornado.

 

Their life was like a litany of domestic abuse.

 

Field researchers and anthropologists, including ethnographers, would probably study their craft of passive-aggression, aggression because there was no other series of words to actually call it but that.

 

They weren’t talking. They needed to talk. Yet, even Wallie knew that he and Miles did not know what words to use. And Miles used to be a journalist. That was the other thing about…Miles. He did not seem to be interested in paper, in stationery, in books and/or any material that people would write in. For him it was the visual media now. And, he also didn’t like playing music too long either. Wallie could not completely discern this change. Miles just said he felt static or heard it louder at times in music. Even, the visual media had to be moderated. If it was a music video Tom would be interested to watch, but became too much for Miles, he would leave and let Wallie and Tom watch. Tom had stopped calling after Miles when this would happen. Either Miles would smile weakly at first and said he wasn’t feeling well, or, he would actually start screaming. After the screaming parts started Wallie would intervene and call Miles names for not being able to handle the program. Though, Wallie felt something surge in Miles head — he didn’t know how to explain it — at first it seemed like red spots or dots but transmogrified to the nth size or something and they _bounced_ — yeah, bounced, like some of weird show. Wallie did not know why but the red spots felt and looked familiar — though, it was like a far-off, memory, a visceral mass that should have been around in his nascent years. It almost looked like scarps of pieces of organic imagery — what happened if you rubbed eyes too hard and saw in dark spaces. Yet, in that size and _bouncing_?

 

Afterwards, Miles would severely apologise to Tom. At first, Tom was gentle. Yet, after this had happened a few times, Tom lost it and punched Miles. Ever since that Miles and apologised again. Tom did not say anything. And ever since that if he walked away Tom did not call him back.

 

Wallie had started to realise there was a small rift growing between Miles and Tom too. They hardly spoke now. And, Wallie didn’t know if that was a good thing. At first he would be mirthful, sadistically, at the prospect of this…Now, he wasn’t sure. Miles and him having squabbles was one thing. However, if Miles and Tom did not feel close. Wouldn’t his host be completely and utterly alone?

 

It wasn’t just Miles.

 

Tom was the only one around who had been treating him still as a sentient being.

 

Then, he just stopped talking to him.

 

Before Tom still seemed interested in his _education_. They read _Of Mice and Men_ together and they read some Dr Seuss. One early evening Tom told him after reading “this had to stop.” There had been a fight at the dinner table and Miles and Wallie had broken the dinner set of plates and glass…leaving poor Tom to clean up after them with a grim look on his face. There were times he would glare. Other times he too would stop yelling and then suddenly smack Miles or even just walk away and slam the door to the bathroom, or room, wherever he felt he could stay. This time he didn’t say a word. The eeriness of him even unsettled Miles. Tom and Tim DuPont had chased him around the asylum once — they were chatty but stealthy; despite their large frame they didn’t make too much noise as Chris Walker did. Even the Walrider’s proximity had odd noises like an animal growling or hissing, blots of Rorschach  suddenly appearing if you seen the engine for too long and then went near the Walrider. The Twins had been quiet when they had been deadly. That was their forte. Yet, there was no need to be like that now — was there?

 

Wallie was now in a conflict of interest. He had grown attached to Tom DuPont. In these proceeding months Miles had hardly called him Wallie and he had hardly used Miles’s name. They had referred to each other as points of interest, as blobs of messy flesh, with a phylum name: “Walrider”, “human”, “this guy”, “guts”,”no-guts”, “loser needs more visible balls”, “this human could have bigger balls,” etcetera, etcetera, etcetera… (Wallie had heard the use of many etcetera was actually from an old film and it was a signature just like quietness was once a signature of the Twins). Though the Twins had also been quiet, kind and caring in the lodge: this kind of quiet was different. It was eerie, as aforementioned, and it did not have a good place in what they had expected from Tom DuPont.

 

After that day Tom did not read to Wallie and he kept a distance from him and Miles. He ventured out by himself. Sometimes, with a book. For the last two months Tom DuPont had utterly kept to himself and no amount of talking or apologising from either Miles and Wallie had decidedly changed this newly fostered identity he had reached and claimed as his own. Wallie and Miles fought more after this, even if they broke less things their spats were laced with verbal abuse of the other — Tom simply ignored what he saw or went away, either outside or inside another room. If he couldn’t leave for whatever the reason you could see his grim expression. His face looked like he was almost about to cry. Wallie thought if he and Miles were almost sadistically or perhaps _pleadingly_ hoping that he would cry. Hoping his tears would somehow be a balm to clean up whatever wounds were festering between them. It was just a bit comical, but many comedies had the air of the tragedies about them. It was just that obscenely sad and comic at the same time.

 

Wallie, in his heart (if he felt he had one), knew it couldn’t go on like this. This animosity between him and Miles was growing worse by worse, day by day. Sometimes, Miles intentionally starved himself so that it caused Wallie also pain. At times Wallie ate larger chunks of raw food making Miles vomit so much as though he was spilling out his guts. It was also the other way too. Wallie would touch books and try to get Miles read them and his hands would shudder; the poor man would look uncertain and Miles would then be mocked by the Walrider showing his skeletal face as a jarring cage of barring incisors and other sharp and tasteless things. And Miles would go out in storms, close to winds and noises (almost hit by thunder once) to overwhelm Wallie to the point of screams and then Miles would laugh at him. It was so disgustingly, torturous and they had gotten into the habit of hurting each other for the last couple of months. In both their minds, they asked the question: What was the fucking point of all this madness?

 

They knew whatever sick pleasure it offered was small and short-lived. It had no benefit. It was pushing them psychologically down yet they seemed to go about this horrible behaviour. They had no idea what has come to them to drive in the nails of sadomasochism. Once Miles blurted out laughing, “I think I am channelling that bastard Father Martin.” And Tom looked at him with some emotion, in a long while, mixed with sadness and own personal disgust. As if Miles and Wallie were _defaming_ the name of Father Martin by their actions. They are actually going beyond the boundaries of a fanatic. Now, that was never a good sign.

 

It was a small, personal hell they were making for themselves.

 

Miles, hadn’t have been able to do much researching. They have had some good leads from VIRA Leaks but couldn’t fully follow up on many of them due to their own skirmishes. At times, it was lack of available resources. Miles looked to become weaker too. His eyes were a little sallow, his frame thinner and his voice raspier. He sometimes took to drinking a bit too much and not at all eating well. And vomiting too much when Wallie abused both of their systems. Wallie noticed that his belt had moved up two or three notches. Obviously, that is not good. Miles was also losing his muscle mass. He got colds a bit too often. Even a few days ago he had gotten a fever and no one knew if compression was enough to cool it down. Wallie later on got affected by the fever with feeling loose, completely loss of limbs, half-paralysis; couldn’t phase, couldn’t move and he was shivering like Miles. He could feel the word temperature etched into his inkly flesh. _So, this is what humans feel like when they have fever or flu_ , Wallie thought under the covers, kicking Miles, and he kicking him, intermittingly, with Tom at one point snapping “I have had enough! Both of you grow up!”, easing their rambunctiousness down, _It is, as they say, sucks bad ass! I wonder if Miles got sick before?_ Wallie looked at Miles, shivering, eyes close, wrenched in pain, yet quietly suffering, unlike him, given into the howls between gaps, _I mean I have to admire his perseverance_. Not knowing that Miles was thinking, _At least Wallie is honest, this feels fucking terrible!_

 

Wallie also had been affected by this malnutrition of Miles. He couldn’t move as fast as before and for him to stay as flesh required a lot more concentration. Sometimes, Tom looked shocked, disturbed or just plain sad. Wallie waited because he had gotten into the routine of Tom pointing out a stray rib, here or there, a chance of a protruding spine or hip blade, the hollows of the stomach which made him feel less real. More ghostly. Concentration issues remained as he sometimes though he had gotten into a spell of sleep. Tom said he must have fainted partially. Could one faint partially? Or, could he faint, wasn’t he without the traditional blood? He didn’t know how his anatomy worked. Maybe, he had something akin to blood all along. Just didn’t know what to call it. Well, you bleed red, blue, yellow, black or white… it was still blood wasn’t it? Sometimes, he coughed of darkish, greyish things too, from his mouth; it’s liquidness was once spotted by Tom and he had chased away the concerned man by saying it was could be all of Miles’ own current bodily problems causing this. Though, even if they were both correlated, it had happened more than once. Wallie was scared. His body felt wrong too many a times. But, he was a specimen who had no doctor. No book to read into in anatomy class. He was scared and he didn’t want to cause fear of Tom or anyone else. Even Miles, if the bastard (as he would call him), would care.

 

It all felt too much to handle at times.

 

Too much to process.

 

But he knew he had to hold on.

 

What else could he do but hold on?

 

With that though, Wallie though he should head back to the small cottage someone from VIRA leaks had been kind to lend them. They had lived in an two large apartments after the attack on the lodge. On one of them their own malevolent behaviour was causing too much trouble so they had to be kicked out. The other one was also weathered down by them, yet, Julian had mentioned that they couldn’t stay for too long anyway, anywhere, seeing how they had been attacked by those odd pair before.

 

And this is where they had decided no bridge could be taken.

 

That young man had a Walrider.

 

Someone who looked a lot more vulpine, savage, a bit less refined than Wallie but A Walrider no less.

 

Tom had brought it up. Yet, in the conversation Miles and Wallie got into a fight about tactics superiority, physical strength, host issues and all the like. Tom finally screamed out loud, making their returning home neighbours bang the wall and Tom going to appease them. Only returning to state it was all of their fault for taking it too easy. And that if Waylon was taken, it was shared responsibility, a burden each of them had to face. Even Waylon, himself.

 

Even if it was the truth both Miles and Wallie seemed disinterested to take it up.

 

Yet, they have had no concrete conversations on this other Walrider, or his host. Miles had mentioned that the young man looked skinny — the word he used was leptosomatic — it was a good word, Wallie reasoned, because psychosomatic and somnambulism were so closely related to the being, or _beings_ , that were Walriders. Wallie chuckled as he headed back. What would that fanatic Father Martin do now if he could see his idea of god in the plural? Would he gladly, as he would say, welcome in the Walrider? Or, would he find the other Walrider as a damnation, a heresy, that too needing purging, in the fire and brimstones of a cross or some other form of chastisement?

 

He had once discussed this with Tom. Tom had given it ample thought: “I do think it depends on how the other Walrider would behave Wallie?”

 

“What do you mean?” Wallie tilted his head, felt something like blood, or adrenalin, or whatever was inside him course through. Press through static like a printing press, shaping the buzz as a form of cathode ray and turning all his insides into technicolour. It had been so long. So severely lonely had he become without the mirth and stimulations of cogent and cognitive conversations. He was a creature shaped as man, whose bounty came from scratching the tubular fibres of the brain or psyche and a warm carving of the heart — a bruised knuckle, looks levelled, take a photo and the contours of bones, knotted into its fleshy hills, are absent. It is like bleaching of bones from print, an erasure, a lacuna from which one knows only perfect pixilation. It is a form of static too. Empty static. That is how he was on the inside. Hulled around and hollow. He wished to be the other form of lacuna, the one which is the absence from ennui and a custodian of information. The word “lacuna” fascinated him. A thought had been brandishing on the word and he would ponder on it more after Tom decided to speak further.

 

“You seemed to him like god because of your preternatural capacity to, as he said, ‘carve the truth into the unbelievers’, he knew, however, that you had a bit of a mind of your own just you need a vessel, a holy grail of sorts. You took many mysterious shapes to him so maybe he was hoping if all else fails Miles would be your host or any other person because you would use all of us as ‘unworthy supplicants’ or whatever. So, if the Walrider that we saw also had that kind of nature surely he would think that it too was a god and that maybe both of you were gods but only the same being or something but in different manifestations. Though, I figure, if that Walrider acted differently to his idea of resurrection and all of that he would probably think of that Walrider as a form of blasphemy. And, would probably tell you to bit its head off.” Tom smiled and Wallie smiled too, it was a good answer, “Though,” Tom continues, his smile half fading, “I would not surmise I know all of Father Martin’s beliefs. They were a tad bit complex at times because I do not know what he thought you and Miles later do. Like were you an advent or an apocalypse? I am not sure how he layered you up in those categories. Did he think you and Miles would go on a pilgrimage like saints and prophets? This part is not clear to me. We were not necessarily indoctrinated by the preacher. He was kind to us and we needed that and we had nothing better to do. So, it was nothing of a bad lot to mix up with him. Also, initially, Miles’s presence completely annoyed us. It was like who was he and what was he up to? All of us caked and naked as we came and dressed as though he was having a casual stroll. There were many things about Miles that didn’t fit in. Obviously, Waylon too. And possibly some of the doctors and patients, and even the guards. But out of all of them Miles was dressed differently and moved around in a way that showed too much confusion. I don’t think even Waylon was that confused. Waylon was still, in a way, one of us. Though, he wasn’t completely a Variant yet. He was one of those lucky bastards who hadn’t exposed to the engine long enough to become a Variant.”

 

“I know this might be a stupid question.” Wallie ventured a bit carefully.

 

“I don’t think so, questions show only the collective of a context, nothing is really stupid. And, in the mood for any questions. State it.” Tom smiled.

 

“You guys don’t look that fucked up by the engine.” Wallie said it, almost in one go, “I mean, you guys have some askew touches in the face but Eddie…” Wallie looked at Tom who didn’t looked sad rather interested to hear what he had to say next, “You saw Eddie. His face was kinda messed up. Burned up, and it was not only Eddie. I saw many people like that. Why do you think so?”

 

“There were a few people who weren’t that messed up.” Tom thought for a moment, “It could be our DNA. And yeah, some people faces weren’t messed up but I think I though saw people with castrations, stumps for arms or mutilated limbs or hands and feet. The engine delivered its horror to us differently. Some people looked okay in the face but you could tell there was no one home,” pointing and pressing to his head, “In there.” Then smiling a bit sadly, “I guess we were lucky we were not as outwardly bad looking than the others.” He chuckled a bit at this, “You know who looked like a shit storm? Chris Walker.”

 

Wallie felt something in the pit of his stomach. Something, something akin to guilt. Then shame. Then a tickling feeling of regret: “I shredded Chris Walker to guts and pieces. He literally was, as the term goes, resting in several pieces…” Wallie almost chocked on his own static-like voice, “He was gonna attack Miles. I have seen what he could do and by that time, me and Billy knew, he had to leave…be done with…we knew we may eventually kill him. He was probably gonna smash Billy’s pod and rip him clean off his head. There was also a chance he would attack Wernicke. So, I did what I needed. I smacked him around a bit. Miles stated that was a huge feat seeing this guy could rip off others’ heads. Then I pretty much used the jagged lines of a vent to pretty much skin and tear him to blood and nothingness. I think I did a number on him similar to what he did to the cows. I have a feeling Billy was also getting revenge via me. Chris had killed people he knew, a few doctors who had been decent to him and then some of his patient friends.”

 

Wallie stopped.

 

Tom listened and stayed quiet.

 

Outside, there was rain pelting down. It was night then and Miles had gone to sleep. They were in their second apartment, recently just moved in. Miles had vomited and decided he wasn’t feeling well so he went off. The storm started some minutes later and Wallie had been pacing. Just when he thought he had gotten used to rain, thunder and all that other noises that come with it. Tom had lighted a candle. Tom’s motions where that if he could weather the storm mixing in shadows like himself and in dim life, he would be healing, though he did say he was no therapist and had no clue but Wallie thought trying out anything was better than doing nothing. So, in the kaleidoscope of their own shadows they had resumed that loose thread of the conversation they had started at dinner, only to have Miles feel sick and even Wallie feel slightly disoriented (the mentioning of the other Walrider, even without Miles’ own conditions, brought with it memories of other nights in the woods. The one with the slender looking man and the weird howl from the odd faraway creature called Vulkodlaks. The only person he mentioned this to was Eddie Gluskin; the others had no idea of those other beasts. As if another Walrider wasn’t a rewarding migraine enough). It was a good thing to do what they were thinking; aghast in the portent ink of their own shadows, their brains buzzed by the sweet smell of rain — the elixir petrichor that Wallie couldn’t deny at once arrested his senses with an overriding stimulus but could calm him too.

 

Wallie felt that the rain made him more existential than ever about his own body. There he was a shadow casting shadows in the rain and he was a wafer being like water. Double entendre of paradoxes. So, a set of doubles, was he? It piqued his interest for a while. He was inclined to share this thought with Tom. For a moment, he had forgotten all the negative feelings he had been experiencing concerning the death of Chris Walker, yet his soft smile met with a quizzical brow of Tom, plummeting him back to his old senses: “Sorry.” He apologised, he felt this was not only inappropriate socially, yet ethically and emotionally, “I got side-tracked.”

 

“You had?” Tom looked a bit surprised, but also a bit relieved. Wallie wondered why.

 

“Yeah, I was thinking of this dim candle flame and myself as a shadow casting shadows: an existential crisis as I am also watery and outside is the rain.” Wallie smiled soft again. Hoping it was okay to voice this.

 

Tom laughed. He laughed for a moment, a bit loudly (out of the corner of his ears, he had them, Wallie heard Miles shuffle a bit), and then Wallie felt something a blush. Did what he say sound stupid? “That is awesome to hear. It is philosophical but it is not dense enough to make you depressed. I liked the thought. Honestly, I was wondering,” Tom uttered quietly, “I was hoping if you were not so depressed as to stop talking altogether.”

 

“Chris’s death really affected me later on when that stupid human Miles,” at this Wallie stopped and looked at the glum expression of Tom, then he ignored and continued, “Said that Chris was a soldier who probably never recovered from the wars he fought. That he may have had issues since childhood and the wars he was in only served to escalate those conditions. That he never got the treatment he deserved. Hearing that was kinda…” Wallie stopped again, and Tom looked closer as he saw Wallie’s eyes tremble a bit, “sad…it was very sad when you looked at it deeper. In the end Chris and Billy were both so alone in the world weren’t they?” And then answering his own question, “I feel I am just like them. And Billy was also a lot like Chris as well. How funny when we can’t see a part of our reflections in other beings.”

 

“Shouldn’t you also state that about Miles?” Tom began firmly yet gently, “He is your host. You two are bonded, shouldn’t —“

 

“Tom.” Wallie spoke so harshly, that made Tom instantly stop and look confused but also uncertain. With folded arms and a sterner face Wallie gave his ultimatum, “We should just talk about us or not at all. We won’t talk about suck-my-dick Up-yours.”

 

“Wallie, that is too —“ Tom tried to start again but Wallie wouldn’t let him.

 

“I am done talking if you wanna talk about that guy.” Wallie pressed his folded arms tighter as if he was trying to protect himself from some rough wind.

 

The anger, the stress and the overall reticent attitude made Tom just nod. They were momentarily engulfed in the darkness when a sudden gust came in and blew the candle off. Tom relit the candle and saw a small portion of the glass broken and he decidedly used a stay rag he found lying about (something maintenance must have forgotten) on it. For adhesive, they had duct tapes so they put that over the cloth, “There.” He said pretty please, “That should cover that for a while.”

 

After that miniature outburst, it seemed no one was interested in talking. Well, Wallie was but he was annoyed that Miles Upshur was gonna be the starting point of a conversation. And even if he wanted to talk seeing that Tom was now interested in his book, as a passive-aggressive way of both avoiding him and proving his point came about, he didn’t know what to say. So, he just sighed, “Hey, can you read that poem out a loud? Might help me a bit too.”

 

Tom looked at him annoyingly and he Wallie just stared down rudely, not knowing what else to do. Then Tom and Wallie shared soft smiles between each other (Wallie apologetically smiled at first) and then Tom seemed to look some pages. In this angle, Wallie saw that Tom had two books, both related to poetry. “Julian Kairos gave me both books as presents. Let’s see first is Angela Carter’s _Unicorn_. The poem here is called ‘On the Down’ — it goes  
Talking to a tree,  
the tramp wears an earth coloured hat.  
Grave-clothes small-clothes flap  
around his ankles  
like little brown dogs  
and he smells rusty.  
  
He will tell you,  
if you let him,  
how once he was a musician  
and he will play for you   
an imaginary fiddle.   
  
The tree drops  
leaves   
around him  
as if throwing  
contemptuous pennies.”

 

“That sounds like a deep but sad poem.” Wallie said, his smile fading. Something about that poem made him pretty sad and he did not know why. It was the ambience? The forlorn man who even vegetation pities? Somehow, it evoked the gloomy rain and fog at Mount Massive Asylum which was imploding on itself as if Nature was also mourning for it.

 

“Poetry can be sad but it is usually, when done right, very honest and truthful.” Tom said as he read to himself the poem again, “I think this poem, if read aloud to any patient at Mount Massive, they would be able to relate.”

 

“How come?” the fibre-fire of curiosity and the cognitive recognition of stimulus waged on in Wallie’s waves of being. This conversation was becoming very meaningful and filled with information. Though just a few seconds ago he too thought of this poem was related to Mount Massive too. Before he could answer, Wallie blurted out, “I thought about it as like as well.” Tom smiled, “Though we could be thinking two different things or similar themes in different ways?”

 

“Yes, that is true. Look how the poem is structured. Once a doctor, one of a few decent ones, in Mount Massive when he was around, told me that a poem’s body in myriad different ways and that it is essential to its storytelling in creating an ambience. The word ‘leaves’ is on a line of its own and that makes you feel that it has a double meaning doesn’t it?” Tom rubbed the word, felt the shapness and the tender scratching feeling of the pages, this edition of the book had thick and grainy pulp. Something, that any book reader may inadvertently love.

 

“It is almost like abandonment isn’t it. And the word ‘contemptuous pennies’ as though giving a few medicines, a few treatments, it doesn’t help the patients. Just keep them as patients doesn’t it?” Wallie mused and Tom smiled, though Wallie further added, “If Nature also looks at the condition you are in with contempt and a sign of mourning, does that mean something is wrong with the world around you?”

 

“Yeah, you figured that much. That is also how I feel. Furthermore, you ask any patient of their former lives. They would be happy to tell you. Many would if they could remember. No one begins as a patient and many do not wish to end as one.” Tom looked away as he slowly and quietly spoke these words, feeling the rich pulp of paper, feeling the soft trailing sound it made among his large index and thumb. A sensuous tactile experience.

 

“Once idiot speed, you know Miles,” Clarifying as Tom gave a protesting look and not to ruin the mood, “He said of a Variant who had his mouth closed off. It was like a mismanaged stump of teeth and gums. He was playing the piano and Miles thought it was hauntingly beautiful. It was like he could see who that poor man was before he became a Variant.”

 

“Precisely.” Tom nodded. Then he took his other book, “This is a longer poem, hearing you guys read Anne Sexton I asked Julian for a poetry book of hers and he gave me _Transformations_. Told me it was many popular fairy tales. This one is her version of ‘Iron Hans’ — it’s a big poem so I wanna read out a part:   
Without Thorazine  
or benefit of psychotherapy  
Iron Hans was transformed.  
No Need for Master Medical;  
no need for electroshock —  
merely bewitched all along.  
Just as the frog who was a prince.  
Just as the madman his simple boyhood.

 

When I was a wild man,  
Iron Hans said,  
I tarnished all the world.  
  
I was the infector.  
I was the poison breather.  
I was a professional,  
but you have saved me  
from the awful babble  
of that calling.”

 

“Well, that is quite a lot? Is she critiquing medicine?” Wallie asked.

 

“Somewhat, though I feel she is also critiquing the way medicines can be used. Though, I feel everyone has its right place. In the beginning of the poem she also seemed to mention the apathy of people being locked up. She talked about ‘lunatics’ in jackets and all that. I think she is talking about the balm of the imagination but also critiquing psychotherapy with medication. Though, it isn’t all good to criticise anything fully as null and void. Therapy can be good for the soul if done right.”

 

“I agree with that.” Wallie and Tom shared a smile. They had past late hours into that night with Tom reading the whole poem for Wallie and reading a poem or two more.

 

That night, Wallie reminisced was a good one, a few good ones. In all honesty, he and Miles made many nights with their bickering and their malevolent silence, _unbearable_. Perhaps, could he? — NO! It had to come from _both_ him and Miles! It wasn’t fair if he made up first and Miles would think, with that egocentric asshole attitude, that he was the only one who _deserved_ an apology.

 

What he wasn’t expecting, as night was beaming down, and the moon, full and ripe out, and Wallie casting shadows in furtive walls and sluices of water and flickering of leaves is Miles waiting out for him with a look on his face completely unreadable. Was it rage? Was he planning to fight? — There was a note in his hand and a messy scrawl of a close-knit cursive and he wasn’t sure from this relative distance what it said. Before he could talk Miles broke it out: “Tom left us.”

 

Wallie darkish eyes looked aghast. “What do you mean he left us?!”

 

“Read.” Miles says it slowly, softly, without anger, with much sadness.

 

Wallie half-snatched the note or the letter from him. It read with a rushed hand in some places, intonated on others, there had been anger and a deep weight on the page and Wallie wondered wait of what:

 

“ _To Whom It May Concern,_

_  
Yeah, I am taking that damn tone ‘cause you guys just don’t give a flying fuck. This is me taking an exit. Seriously. I am done. You know what. Fuck you Both. I can’t believe how fucked out you guys have been acting all these months. It’s been like a year of this bullshit and my sanity, yeah sanity, laugh all you want, can’t take this shit anymore! I left my brother! My fucking, younger twin brother to assist you guys! And for what? Seeing you fuckers go at each other almost every day and every night? I mean a man can’t even have a decent meal with that Walrider punk and his host ass crapping all over the dinner table and breaking everything. I told you all once that we were ALL YES ALL responsible for Waylon Park being taken away. You think Eddie and Tim don’t feel bad? You think I don’t? When will you guys stop thinking with your assess and think with your brains for a moment. I just had it. Don’t go looking for me. Don’t whine I abandoned you. I tried my level best. I cooked for you guys, I cleaned up after you guys, I tried my hardest and my damndest and I think I just need some space to think before I lose my mind more than what the Morphogenic engine did to me okay. I didn’t wanna do this…I seriously…didn’t wanna do this…but I had to. Try to understand. Please think for a moment. And try to forgive me._

_Goodbye,  
You still have my love,_

_  
Tom DuPont_.”

 

And Wallie just looked down, the letter still in his hand. There was a distant call of rain but he knew he had started crying before those waters fell. Miles and he, almost in sync, held each other’s hands. It is one of the closest things they had done in a year. And, without any notice, Wallie couldn’t help himself, he just slowly embraced Miles, Miles held him close and tight. They looked at each other. Gazing for a long time. Miles stroked his face. And then in unison, as holding hands, when the rain fell…

 

They kissed…

 

Mouth open…

 

Kissing…

 

Don’t know why…

 

Just the need to not starve the other anymore…to feel nostalgic…some essence of comfort…

 

And he knew Miles was crying too…the letter getting wet in the rain…

 

Only Wallie did not, even though he had been thinking, what his tears felt and looked like…

 

 

* * *

 

Pauline Glick shut off the damn alarm.

 

It was a bloody mistake.

 

Both the guy next to her and the alarm.

 

She had a day off today and she was supposed to still work, or, felt like it — with Danielle Austen and Sasha Ouellet. There were some legal proceedings, though they might win, seeing that Danielle, in a moment of rage punched Norma-Jean Paxton, a woman who worked as a receptionist and assistant in Leadville Police Department, because she didn’t seem to give a reliable answer. It was a shit fest seeing that Norma-Jean worked in a fucking police department and Austen, in gleeful rage, just punched her twice before Pauline had to stop the insane bitch for causing another media circus. Apparently, Helen Granat had also slapped, punched and used a cane of her little lover for being so insolent. Then, however, congratulated her for punching so well on Norma-Jean. Though, if Mount Massive didn’t intermittently come in the news and the legal proceedings for that then perhaps this case of attempting to batter wouldn’t have been so much of a problem.

 

“Hey, there sunshine.”

 

Pauline almost squirmed in absolute disgust, _I must have been high or pissed to have taken this guy so readily on his offer, dammit, maybe I just needed to fuck, it isn’t fair that Blaire is off fucking off that Waylon Park sweet ass I would have gotten that drink he offered to me all the while back. After all, he isn’t really on hunting ground anymore. Dammit, does he have to talk to me like that? It’s just a score. I mean I thought this fucker was interested on Cindy Eisner?_

 

“Yeah, hi there Kurt…” Pauline spoke with some visible irritation, she didn’t like being called ‘sunshine’ so early in the morning by her, hopefully, one-night stand or better yet fuck-buddy. And, it was a mistake that she even got up that early to begin with. Not to mention, before he had come over she had tongued Danielle in all the right places and had a quickie with her. Dammit, should have kept Austen and not this prick.

 

“Huh, not a morning person?” Kurt tried to cuddle but Pauline was not really ready for all this hormone rich affections. Not to mention, she didn’t feel that attached to Vigalondo. She knew that his thoughts and aims were a bit divorced. Concerning the fact that Cindy Eisner, daughter of Derek Eisner, also a successful psychiatrist had her panties in a bunch for that little tornado Darian (Daryl) Stockblitz Leitner. It was pity fuck from her and for him it was something like a crutch, wasn’t it? There could be no reason he would be so infatuated by her in such a short time or was Vigalondo one of those old romantics or creeps who don’t need a second fuck or date but just like panties as they come? It may be cute if it is the former, kind of reliable, and fucking headache if it was the latter.

 

Not to mention, she had to talk to those newer agents. Dwight Parrish, who was like a twin or cousin to Rudolf Gustav Wernicke’s butler-assistant, Lewis LeBlanc. And what kind of name of Roxie, Pauline giggled, Harrell was always trying to outdo her name which talked a lot about what her parents were coming from. Small town. Well, she did say it was Roxanne, though her official record put that as a second guess. Harell was not that efficient naturally. Well, she had to admit Roxie has been filling in some gaps about Billy Hope’s mother and had been in Mount Massive’s clean up salvage crew. They had gone there to secure some of the confidential files even many of the employees had tried to throw it all away, which, was the protocol after all.

 

“I am not supposed to be up this early,” She looked at his wide grinning face, looked like, what was the literature? Wasn’t it in the Thomas Hardy? Rudimentary drawing of the sun, yes, things should remain absolutely rudimentary, “Especially, to my fuck who thinks he is my boyfriend.”

 

Kurt Vigalondo’s smile completely was wiped off.

 

Pauline smiled at the look of disbelief on his face and a sort of a blush: “ C’mon Glick don’t be such a hardcore bitch.”

 

“Yeah, and you loved fucking with this girl because she is a hardcore bitch.” She laughed, openly, throwing her head back, now, this was sunshine to the core.

 

Kurt, surprisingly, smiled too: “Fine, I don’t mind being your fuck-buddy if that is what you want.”

 

“Sure, Mr. Desperate, don’t expect seconds today.” At this Kurt blushed again, as Pauline surveyed the time now, 8:30am, she decided maybe she should she moving along, “As I am already up I think I shoud talk to Dwight and Roxie, they are part of the clean up crew at Mount Massive.”

 

At the mention of ‘Mount Massive’ Kurt got up with a jolt and shivered: “Yeah, you should just take care of that shit by yourself.”

 

_Jumpy, aren’t we,_ Pauline smiled a bit, then she remembered seeing his office, like a hurricane hit it and all the blood, he wasn’t doing that good when he was rescued. He was in shock and talking to himself. He mentioned Cindy once. And how he would have wanted to have wine with her. Then he broke down crying.

 

“Hey, I heard Andrew Lanes sometimes comes into the Murkoff Rehabilitation Centre?” Kurt came up to her face and give her a small kiss, to which, she responded by pushing him away.

 

“Yeah,” She said, keeping him at arm’s length, “Lanes is an incontinent piece now, they trying to fix that. Like a dog he gets pissy when he is sad, happy, scared, pretty much anything.”  Pauline laughed, this time covering her mouth a bit, “I mean, serves him right. Heard he was a sadomasochistic fuck anyway. To half-dead patients, where is the challenge in that?”

 

“You,” Kurt decided to tread lightly, “Haven’t seen Trager have you?”

 

Pauline had a wicked gleam in her eyes, “Why would I want to see that sorry sack of shit…” Then she had a hand under her chin, “Maybe, I could, administer some drugs in him again…”

 

“Forget, I said anything.” Kurt raised his hands up defensively, “I mean, I heard he looks pretty fucked up. Many of the treatments had to be rejected or his own body rejected them. He has a hard time gaining weight and underneath the shirt he looks skeletal and his skin is off. They are just keeping him alive to know how many people he fucked up. Apparently, he fucked up Cooper, he is from my same floor. I think Copper was escaping the same time Waylon Park was trying to make a move.”

 

“I expected that crack up doctor wannabe would do something like that.” Pauline yawned and stretched her limbs, “I need to go. Maybe, I will also talk to those two about Murkoff handing over Mount Massive to Volsung Pharmaceuticals or Ironsmith.”

 

“Are the talks really under way?” Kurt looked interested.

 

“Yeah, Mount Massive is too big a commodity to just be a media circus and let it rot. Not all the companies of the conglomerate are friendly. Some of those vultures are happy Murkoff won’t be calling the shot. That is why it is good if we go and clean out as much as we can. We don’t know if the new project Valkyrie would already start there seeing it is a good ground for that. Having all those other patients around, Judith Rojas, was one of the old test subjects. It would be good if we can get her soon. I wonder what that mind, so broken and messy, is hiding.” As she talked Pauline got up, stretched some more, completely naked. Kurt looked at her with both appreciation and awe. She did look like some large predator going in for a kill. “There is a chance though that the conglomerate companies will help strengthen Project Walrider and all other corresponding projects.” She looked at Kurt, “Even if the media may say, oh they may be sister companies, it is well known that all of us are good rivals. This is the only immediate way to stop other people moving into our territory and to stop causing more mass security breach. Of course, we will still have to quaranteen many areas. And personnel has to be kept at a minimum.” And at this Pauline’s face become hard and serious, “The Morphogenic engine, according to Wernicke, is self-perpetuating. There were computers and Tv screens, I don’t know if something like this happened befored but…it could have had a serious breach and issue that we are not certain about.”

 

“That sounds…” Kurt swallowed, “That sounds very scary.”

 

“It _is_ scary.” Pauline got her lighter out and took out a cigarette, smoking she looked at Vigalondo, “You know, old records did show prototypes of the first engines all _contacted_ or did something to _bring_ something over. I wouldn’t be surprised if something like the Walrider has been running for a longer period of time than we know.” Blowing out a smoke she smiled all vulpine at Kurt, “That is where I also come in. If I can find some sources to somewhere I know I got the right track. After all, Murkoff has also been investigating without me. I know I will get my heels in something soon.”

 

“Your work sounds glamorous.” Kurt sighed and smiled, “All I have to do is give a telephonic interview today. Murkoff approved. Though I was no mood to talk to two Blake and Lynn Langermann. Married journalists.”

 

“What do they want?” Pauline blew out another smoke and wore her robe.

 

“Don’t know, wanted to ask me about Mount Massive and female employability rates dropping over the course of stuff before the events. Lynn Langermann specified if it was sexist issue.” Kurt looked annoyed at the last part.

 

“Psychosomatic pregnancies are all abound in that one. I suppose they must have also talked to some of the fired staff. Reporters and their hand job news repertoire.” Pauline giggled and looked like she was going in the shower.

 

Only, there was a small knock on the door and Pauline went to open it. She was not so surprised to see Shay Condor. She had decided to live intermittently on Murkoff owned premises. For her safety, after all she didn’t wanna get in the crossfire of Paul Marion’s one shot of conscience. Literally. And Shay had been her assigned orderly when she was recuperating. It was nice to see some familiar faces she could tolerate. Though she sometimes wondered at his habit of bringing her flowers.

 

Which he had done now.

 

“Hey Glick. You wanna go get breakfast?” he stopped a bit seeing a half-naked Kurt Vigalondo, only half-annoyingly asking, “I mean if you want to.”

 

“I am gonna have breakfast at the cafeteria with my files.” Pauline didn’t know how to assess the situation. Should she feel amused? Was this friendship? Or, something more?

 

“I have some early rounds there, maybe we could catch up?” Shay looked happy.

 

Pauline felt a bit unsettled, not completely negative, though she didn’t know what to really say, “I plan on going to Mount Massive.”

 

“That place!” Both Kurt and Shay called out.

 

“Yeah,” she looked at them both, “There might be some inspection. Harrell and Parrish are moving there so I wanna tag along. After all, we have to do something seeing we don’t know exactly what that cupcake Marion has told the feds.”

 

“You gotta be careful.” Shay looked tense.

 

“Yeah, this kid’s right,” Kurt winked much to the irritation of Shay and Pauline’s smile, “I am gonna head off. Gotta prep notes for the Langermanns.”

 

Pauline sighed, “Good, now I wanna shower in peace.”

 

She didn’t notice Shay blush a bit before looking longingly at her. And she gave a quick kiss to Vigalondo who realised he wouldn’t ge any shower action.

 

Pauline got in the shower turned on the water and put shampoo on her tresses, _Hmmm, my hair reaches my neck now, I probably should cut it….or, not… fuck it, what a loaded morning I am having. Need some coffee, God, need some coffee._

 

* * *

 

Carmen Rojas looked outside the café.

 

“Hey, we need to move after we meet Lisa Callaghan. Apparently, her kids, Waylon and her kids, are living with her parents for a while. She said a Murkoff agent, or, what looked like a Murkoff person was trying to ask her questions. I did do some info search and Voila I got a hit,” Genevieve Amis showed her and Carmen looked, “This is Roxie Harrell.”

 

“Roxie huh?” Carmen smiled.

 

“Yeah, or Roxanne Harrell, VIRA leaks confirms she is under Murkoff employment and that her partner is one of those guys that tailed us a year back —“

 

“You mean when I was still an active Leadville cop?” Carmen said this with some sadness.

 

Genevieve put a hand on her hand, “Yeah, look I am sorry —“

 

“It wasn’t your fault. There was no way I could stay there. We are no longer in Leadville. I wouldn’t have jurisdiction and my badge would have meant nothing.” Carmen held back Genevieve’s hand, she was happy for the support. God knows she did needed it. She missed being a cop. But she couldn’t be a cop for this. If she got caught doing something outside her jurisdiction…she could have some problems.

 

That is when her cell phone rang, “Oh, hi Captain Marlowe,” then she paused, “What to Norma-Jean? Oh, okay…okay, okay.” She ended the last words happily.

 

“What is it?” Genevieve asked, looking at Carmen’s happy face.

 

“Seems I can still be a cop for some time. Danielle Austen, get this, attacked Norma-Jean Paxton, she is one of the receptionist of the department.” Carmen looked happy, though angry after mentioning the attack.

 

“Oh my God, what for did this weirdo attack Norma-Jean?” Genevieve looked pretty irked.

 

“Austen went to talk about me. You know I took some months leave and I even mentioned to my boss that I may not come back and I was gonna file in the paperwork but seeing this happens he wants me around a bit longer.”  Carmen explained.

 

“If we want clues to Dissociative Dennis and Shirley Pierce we could use your perks as a cop.” Genevieve smiled, then seriously whispered, “We know now for sure that David Annapurna was resigning and Trager had him become a patient and then Trager himself was a patient. All of this begins with Rudolf Gustav Wernicke and his Morphogenic engine. And we know that it was involved in Mount Massive. Though the video uploaded had had some effect we know Murkoff is still standing around. I heard there are legal proceedings happening to see which new company can take over Mount Massive. They probably helping Murkoff or at least aiding in some way. Even if Mount Massive will turn into a respectable institution given some months’ time of offices or something.”

 

“Then should we make a trip,” Carmen suggests, “And break into Mount Massive?”

 

“We should at one point.” Genevieve nods, “Soon. We need to get some stuff from those offices. I have a bad feeling that David Annapurna is alive but not in the way he wants to be.”

 

“True, that makes sense.” Carmen said this a bit distracted, as if she is collecting her resolve, then she says with more conviction, looking up at Genevieve, “Gene, we are gonna get this.”

 

They clasp hands as a team, “Yup,” Genevieve smiled, “We are gonna get them.”

 

Carmen looks, “I am gonna get David Annapurna, hopefully, I am gonna get him out alive.”

 

* * *

 

Helen Granat looked at The Cleaner, “Look, you almost killed Annapurna, don’t disappoint me, okay.” Then she smiled, “You need to also keep Vulkodlaks in check. We have many interesting things coming up.”

 

“What kind of interesting things?” The Cleaner, the Urvine being, came forward and wrapped his arms around Helen, who was naked and in bed, next to her was a handcuffed Danielle Austen sleeping.

 

“I think a year is a time enough for people to amass some strength.” Helen drank some orange juice, it was like she was having a picnic, “I know Waylon’s ‘therapy’ has not been going well. After all, there was no introduction near the engine. Though, he seems to listen to odd things in the static screens and radio signals we make him see and hear. I think he is hearing something in another level we are hearing and seeing something we are not completely aware of. And by ‘we’ I do mean most of us humans. I have seen glimpses. You have seen glimpses too, right?”

 

“Yes,” The Cleaner nods, “Nana, that other Walrider, speaks as though in it is almost in her language.” Then he nods, “It is something that has to do with those recent human killings. Those women…”

 

“Yes, Jane Does. I think Pauline Glick is gonna realise what Blake and Lynn Langermann may unexpectedly uncover. I need you, to sniff out the bodies of two people, Father Martin Archibald and Frank Manera…there is something on both of them that could give us clues to our next moves.” Helen smiles as she drinks her juice. The Cleaner pours her some more.

 

“It will be done; I am your vulture and your eagle and I will completely not fail.”

 

Then he feels the sting of the slap.

 

He clutches his face, “Cleaner, never go in front of X6 without any prior order. Do I make myself clear?! You or Vulkodlaks!”

 

“Of course, sir.”

 

* * *

 

“Are you sleeping?” Tim DuPont came in with Earl Grey and cookies. There were some English pastries too.

 

“No, I am happy for evening tea.” Eddie got up a bit from his bed. His abdomen was still bandaged. Tim smiled. So much had happened. He had decided to stay with Eddie. He got burner cell calls from his brother and anonymous letters posted on newspapers from time to time. They have had made a timetable. Some days of the month, specific days, they had to keep contact. At least, Tom and Tim DuPont did. From what he knew Miles and Wallie were not conversing decently either. In one of his last calls his older brother broke down. In his tears, he did say that he would be leaving them maybe pretty soon. Tim respected that decision. The environment was getting unliveable.

 

And over here, he was feeling guilty, his months with Eddie had been going well. Eddie had physiotherapy every day. His abdomen wounds had been too bad. They had somewhat helped but without more severe medical treatment it was starting to get worse. Without immediate treatment Eddie, could have died. And that other Walrider had slammed into him pretty hard making previous wounds anew. So, Tim wanted to stay behind and help his friend. After all, Eddie deserved someone around. They have been doing some research. They have looked at some files. Some, seem interesting to Eddie and to him. Eddie said he remembered some asshole named Rick Trager and Tim remembered being served by a kind orderly named David Annapurna. Apparently, when Julian Kairos came to visit them in this private small clinic, he mentioned that David Annapurna had been missing for some time, even before the meltdown started in Mount Massive. And they assembled some clues. It was a miracle that some wealthy people did help organisations like VIRA leaks; actually, it was sister organisation that ran this private clinic. It was private as in it was small though it was still listed as a public domain. It was a series of clinics that Eddie had been in. There were always some shortage of appropriate medicines or time of physiotherapy able to be done. So, they kept on moving places, they changed states three times. Though Eddie seems to getting better. And, each new day passed, Tim and Eddie wanted to find Waylon Park.

 

Only, their approaches seemed to be a bit varied. Eddie was still angry with Miles and Wallie for not winning the fight. Tim was still trying to reason with him but he was a convalescing man and he didn’t wanna tire him out. He wanted to re-join all of them, though, he knew his older brother could use some time off from them.

 

“Well, good let’s have some tea.” They starting taking their tea and cookies when Tim got a call. Eddie knew who was calling and nodded and so Tim took his phone and saw the unknown number, “Hello, brother.”

 

“It’s done. I have left them. I am with that someone I told you about. And, I am having a relaxing time. I feel guilty but I think I needed to do this.”

 

“Don’t feel guilty. All of us needed that change. Can’t wait to see you? Will you come to visit us?”

 

“Not, anytime soon. Very far away Tim now.”

 

Tim smiled, “That’s okay. Have fun. You need. Can’t wait to hear what you been up to. Does your friend have a permanent number?”

 

“Yeah, I will give it to you…”

 

Eddie drank the tea. In his heart, he hated to admit it…but he missed all of them, he missed Miles, they had been intimate, he missed Waylon, who he was growing to love, he was missing Wallie…Eddie sighed, he hoped he could better. He was expecting Julian Kairos in tomorrow. Hopefully, he knew how to help more soon.

 

* * *

 

“So, how does it feel finally fucking Waylon Park, or is it Waylon Blaire now?”

 

“Shut up Darin, why did you call at this hour?”

 

“I am outside your house.”

 

Jeremy panicked. He looked over his side and saw Waylon asleep. He quietly got out of bed and saw Darian carrying the box of the fucking drugs they were giving Waylon, to keep him a bit disoriented. And the vials, send by Sasha and that Vivian Slavic no doubt, to take blood samples.

 

“Don’t feel bad.” Darian snorted, “You are living the dream.”

 

Jeremy cried out and grabbed Darian’s tee’s collar, “This is fucking nightmare Stockblitz Leitner!”

 

“Yeah, I love you too Blaire. Fuck that is also Waylon’s Blaire…” Darian slowly took of Jeremy’s hands and kissed him, “You kinda still taste of him. He tastes nice. I don’t know if my jealousy is that I can’t fuck you anymore or I can’t fuck you both.”

 

“Darian how come you are in the United Kingdom?” Jeremy put his hands on the other man’s hands. He hated to admit it. But he missed Darian a lot.

 

“Cindy Eisner. She came here for a conference.” Darian smiled and kissed Jeremy’s cheek, he automatically kissed back, he was kind of used to doing that, though he blushed and Darian decided to restrain himself, after all he kind of bought being a married man, though he did like seeing Waylon around, he did seem like a cool family man, “You know talk about brains and shit.”

 

“It’s good to see you.” Jeremy though, fuck-it, and just went with his true feelings, “I haven’t seen you in four months.”

 

Darian kissed him hard and hugged him, all of a sudden, and Jeremy hugged back, so much for restraint. Darian pressed himself on his chest, “I miss you too Jeremy.” Then smiled looking up, “But we all have our duties to fulfil. I know you want him, maybe, not like this. But you had no choice and this is good enough right? I suppose it is. I gotta go. Keep in touch. Keep on calling and writing.”

 

Jeremy slowly nodded.

 

Things do go to fuck don’t they?

 

With one change to Waylon Blaire from Waylon Park…  


 

 

**End of Indriya II  
Coffee**

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, still have the Indriya subdivision. I forgot about it before XD sorry my bad. Indriya is sanskrit for "ability", "physical ability" and/or organ. So, I decided to use that as making some subdivisions. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Please comment okay. I need to know what you think of Butterfly Masks okay :) 
> 
> Onwards to the next chapter! I will try to update soon okay guys :)


	3. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is 20, 993 words. I felt there was a lot to write seeing that there is so much happening. I wrote it using all this time. I wanted this update to be large seeing my last chapter happened almost a month ago. I hope you guys like reading this

 

**Post Traumatic Stress Disorder**   
  
**Indriya III**  
**Cochineal**

 

 

After being notified by Tom DuPont of what he was up to and what had happened in the recent months that came to the final straw, Tim DuPont could relax. He did not show it at that time but his heart skipped a bit, despite being happy for his brother, about him suddenly leaving. They were Variants. That truth hadn’t changed. They didn’t see things at regular people did and they didn’t experience things what could be called “normal.” Also, there was the fact sometimes their vision got blurry and they saw Rorschach blots. Initially, in front of Wallie this happened a lot. Then it started to wane down and became a bit non-existent. Though, the blots would come and go. In static screens, when they look closer, a face used to appear…sometimes, in different channels, as though something had encoded itself in their flesh and eyes, and ears. They heard it too, within static jumps, especially in late night radio. Though it also happened in late afternoons. He was sure Eddie got it too. Though Eddie would only at times voice it when his pain got really bad, with a scream: “Turn off that fucking radio I can hear its face!” or “Fuck, like if the pixels are touching me!”

 

Sometimes, the =nurses and orderlies would come to help him. Others would get crossed and tell him to shut up; the stop or glare back to the glare of Tim DuPont. Or, tell him to rationally be quiet. Ask him what’s wrong? To these people Tim told them that he was having a bit of a PTSD spell, which was partly true. The VIRA leaks affiliated person (well not affiliated, just good enough friends with Julian Kairos), who worked bi-weekly as a therapist in this clinic, looked at both Tim and Eddie. Julian had firmly asserted they needed the counselling much to the chagrin of Eddie Gluskin and the relief of Tim DuPont. The therapist admitted that he wasn’t used to particular cases like these. Eddie and Tim somewhat hid things and the therapist knew this but it was open secret they needed some time and some things would be better off not saying for all their sakes.  Thing was that it would be problematic for all of them if too much information was given.

 

However, Sigourney Starling, their therapist, was a curious person. Now, Tim sitting in her ersatz counselling room in the small clinic looked at the window and then at her. She was reading a book by an author Tim had heard about, Sidney Sheldon. The book was called The Doomsday Conspiracy: How befitting, Tim though, suppressing a chuckle.

 

“That is one of the only books where Sheldon’s protagonist was a man.” Dr Starling says when she notices that Tim is looking at her book, “Sheldon passed away years ago. This book is also many years old. I think above 20 years if I remember correctly.”

  
Tim felt the cool yet comfortable chair he was sitting on. They were old leather and smelled a bit. The clinic was run on small private funds and public donations so it wasn’t going soon. Though another clinic nearby where Eddie had his physiotherapy was part of a private practice and was full of wealthy clientele. Of course, there was no way Eddie could easily live there because he wasn’t looking like the audacious, wealthy sort at the moment. And, too many people would question about him. They went in less crowded hours and only if the physician had problems coming here.  Dr Starling had an office there though she was affiliated with many different types of clinics.

 

“What is the other one?” Tim asked and Sigourney allowed him to look at the book. He touched over the weathered paperback. Was he re-reading it? Or, was this second hand?

 

“The other one was his first published novel, _The_ _Naked_ _Face_ , which, ironically, dealt with a psychiatrist.” Sigourney winked at him and he had to chuckle now. Then they both mutually laughed. Tim had to admit. He loved his sessions with Dr Sigourney Starling. Even if she was basically his doctor they had a very friendly relationship. Actually, they were friends. He was a patient of hers that is not supposed to be around for too long, as Julian as told the situation, most of what he knew to her. All of their safety required an efficient way of assessing and delivering information. So, she understood this and wasn’t that picky all the time. Yet, she was curious, to a specific level. If she couldn’t pull a spyglass into their pasts and their histories much she endeavoured to know their tastes and their favourite things. Tim and Tom had taken to reading as much they could, even if it is fragmentary reading. And, she liked that. With Eddie, he seemed to know more designer labels than her so if she wanted to know about Vogue’s or Elle’s 80’s swimsuit line or wedding magazines, he was the right person to go to. There was one time he talked about a particular ’65 cover where a woman was wearing a green hat that was shaped also like a scarf that she found interested and googled and saw the image. Then he said he liked, a model, probably Cindy Crawford, or looked a lot like Crawford on the Vogue page of ’88 talking about Spring Styles. He said there was something nice of the minimalist tones sashaying with the sparkling green. And, Starling had googled that image and liked it as well.  
  
“So, what are you reading?” She carefully drank her tea, seeing her Tim took his mug. There were no restrictions against him and he has shown to behave — usually, one would not be at ease with someone like this and rightfully so. The door always remained open with some security patrolling them. Despite Tim’s improvements given he was a Variant and seeing they were in therapy session no one wanted to take risks as in Julian and some of his colleagues. It was okay. Tim knew he wasn’t exactly sure to how much he could stay civil or appropriate. What if she said something that triggered something? After all, she wasn’t Waylon or Miles nor was she Eddie or Wallie. He could end up doing something he regretted. So, initially, the door was open. Now they stayed slightly ajar and security personnel nearby.

 

With Eddie, it was always open and she was advised not to use anything that could be maliciously against her. Eddie was a serial killer of women. And that past could not be easily taken out of any context. Hearing that he also tried to fuck up men in the asylum has made many security personnel, who somewhat recognised him but kept under contracted silence, heavily reluctant to be put on his rounds. They heard or saw images; they were not gonna risk themselves. Though Murkoff and the conglomerate came up with something slightly justifiable the asylum and its horrors were still sometime talked about in late night shows. Inconveniently, at times some men were told to guard Eddie and they had no rhyme or reason after what they saw to say yes without complaints. Eddie didn’t like therapy and he sure wasn’t that talkative with Sigourney but lately (was it guilt or Waylon or Miles no one could tell) he did start telling her a bit about the photographs.  Eddie had confessed that he had at one point wanted to be a model. He had broken into his dad’s stash to take the pictures. In his euphoria, he forgotten that these pictures were besmirching his innocence, was like blasphemy to the blood. It was halfway to a friend’s place he realised that what he was doing.

 

He broke down crying on the road and then cried some more when he went home and saw, in his mind, the young him being shamed. Sigourney said he was not merely a victim, that he did go past his abuses, however, he was also hurt other people as retaliation and fancy, which was WRONG. There was no way he would closure on what was done to him by hurting others. Nor, did his philosophy make sense to get him what he wanted. It was actually the most brutal form of gender normativity any society can throw at someone. He was being a doll, she stated, a doll that people could play upon and not be his own person. He had to get out of that. She didn’t touch him. Knowing he could have a strong reflex. Then, he saw he was softly crying and she did slowly give him tissues. That was hard for him to say. But, he had to finally say to someone. He didn’t wanna burden Waylon, or even Miles, with all these memories at once. Also, he was still angry at Miles. Yet, now he wasn’t sure of what the reasons were.

 

Truth was, he did miss Miles.

 

Perhaps, the anger also came from there.

 

The fact he missed someone he wanted to blame and not sure if he should blame. Probably, he was blaming his own weaknesses. He had pined for Waylon yet did some things with Miles. Then he felt like he wanted them both. Though he loved Waylon he couldn’t deny he had some sexual attraction and some developing emotions for Miles. For the latter, it may not be love but the attraction was somewhat there; it need not be the intense and strong need and want he felt for Waylon. Yet, he did want Miles Upshur’s friendship. He sometimes hated himself for that. Though Tim had at times touched on this subject, which usually ending up in their arguments, even if not violent just unpleasant, and Tim had spoken that there was no shame in wanting a compatible friend. Someone who knew how to shut him up.

 

Waylon was more than a friend and Miles was someone who could be just a friend. Yes, some sexual acts had happened or may happen again but was possible that was attraction and curiosity. You had it with some people though you need not act on it. The only reason he did act on it was because he was not taken. So, it could be somewhat overlooked. Also, if he accepted his attraction to Miles and the incontrovertible reality he wanted him a friend then perhaps the sexual acts themselves would cease and just the communication can happen. It could be he was attracted to Miles but he didn’t seem to be invested in him romantically enough. Eddie said that Tim was his friend and he had not really expressed desire to lay with him. Tim laughed and stated that his size and their close proximity to the same kind of violence beforehand would probably attract or repel so the latter had clearly occurred. To which Eddie cursed and Tim cursed back and they argued for a bit before apologising and talking about a magazine and drinking tea.

 

It is true in this year’s time Eddie and Tim had become extremely close friends. Eddie was more than touched that Tim had decided to stay behind for him. Tim merely said: “Me and my brother know how it’s like being alone and feeling abandoned. If we can help it, we won’t let our friends feel that. Besides, Miles and Wallie needed someone too. Did you see how they were glaring at each other? That would have been a tragedy in the making leaving them together, alone. Someone had to go with them.” Eddie could only nod because whatever Tim stated was true. He wondered, with concern, were they doing okay? Yet, he wouldn’t easily admit this to Tim or Sigourney or even Julian, who visited them from time to time.

 

“I am not reading anything really…” Tim answered Sigourney, “But…I do wanna read your book, when you can lend it to me?”

 

“Sure.” Sigourney nodded, then after drinking her Earl Grey, and looking at the halved contents of slivery reddish-brown, she asked, “Where you thinking of anything else?”

 

“Yeah, my brother.” Tim drank his own tea, a mixture of Camomile and honey, Twinning’s, “Tom said he was reading _Transformations_ by Anne Sexton. It’s a poetry book.” Then before Sigourney could say anything, “I am not into poetry so much at the moment but prose. And, your book’s conspiracy title caught my attention. Is this your second read?”

 

“Well, my third. I read it first when I was sixteen and then when I was 20. Now, I am 32, so I am reading it now.” Sigourney drank her tea and looked at Tim’s stunned face, “A problem?”

 

“No, it’s just you don’t look 32.” Tim chuckled.

 

“I guess, ‘looking the part’ always has subjective dimensions. Though I guess sometimes looking the part is important at times.” Sigourney drinks her tea, a part of her was wondering why she was drinking so much tea. It was because she was waiting for Tim to speak, say something _productive_ to his own personal life _directly_. Though, when she thought more about this was also direct in some ways. Personally, she was wondering what had happened to Tom. Tim was obviously nervous but he was also calming himself down because he was saying that he was doing pretty much alright. _Who_ was he with though? That was truly the question. And, was it _safe_ for her to know?

 

“I would like to read _The_ _Doomsday_ _Conspiracy_ after you are done with it?” Tim asking courteously for her book made her forgo her train of thought, “That is alright, right?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” She smiled, handing him the book, “I have the book in my kindle as well,” as Tim took the book, looking at the marks of palms and touches on the its cover, while palming the papery side of it, it smelled of pulp and coffee, strongly, “We could probably read it together and discuss the book?”

 

“Wow.” Tim immediately looked at her all happy, “Sure. I don’t discuss books often and mostly with my brother. It would be interesting to read and discuss things with another person. I mean I did it a bit with Wallie but he couldn’t necessarily read books.” Tim said this cautiously, “I mean you _know_ _vaguely_ what he _is_.”

 

“Yeah, and I guess I still don’t understand it much. Julian said lesser I knew it would be better but the way you speak of _him_ , can’t even think of him as an _it_ , and the more you mention him, partly my interests are piqued.” She confessed, then smiled, “Though, I won’t press you for anything.”

 

“Wallie didn’t talk much all the time with a knowing hand. Everything was new to him so he had the wonders of a child but also the insatiable curiosity of one. We had many philosophical and existential discussions with him. Though, as he was like a child, there were always certain things me and Tom were better versed at than him. I know that sometimes this used to frustrate him Once, violently, he also shredded some curtains as he was incapable of grasping something.” Tim spoke carefully, yet his emotions came out, fondness for Wallie and a liveliness that matched Wallie’s own, then sympathetically, sadly, “It must have been difficult to him beyond anything at times. To be so much alienated from a physicality and an ordinariness we all take for granted.” Then smiling again, “So, it is good to discuss things with someone who has a knowing quality about themselves.”

 

“You are worried about Tom, aren’t you?” She casually asked.

 

“Not so much.” Tim confessed, “He is with someone who is actually a friend of Miles’s. She was once called a temporary number of theirs and he picked up. They mailed each other and then he also got a phone from her, which she kind of kept secret, because of all the troubles Miles and Wallie were giving Tom. She was the one who suggested if he needed a time-out he could come to her.  So, that is what he did. After he got sick with all their bickering, their massively violent fights, he just called her.  To be honest, seeing how he was detailing how unwelcome and completely fucked up the atmosphere was, sorry for my language, I am surprised he didn’t budge sooner. I would have. All I know is I am happy my brother left. It was becoming a very bad place for him. He had been crying too, out of their eyesight, many times now. It is not they were intentionally trying to hurt him. Yet, their behaviour was becoming too messy. It is a good chance for him.”

 

“I am happy she decided to help him.” Sigourney nodded. “Well, now he is get his much-needed rest and relaxation.”

 

“Yeah, he will.” Tim breathed out a sigh of relief, “To be honest,” he started after some moments, “I think after talking to you I can be at ease. I mean I could reassess my feelings. I was more concerned for him when he was with them. Like all his crying and everything. It got to me severely at times. I know my brother feels guilty at times for leaving them but he really needed this and there is a chance this isn’t permanent. I think he just wanted some air. And, that is good for him.”

 

“I am glad you can be happy with everything that is going on and be happy for him as well.” Sigourney looked outside for a bit, then turned and smiled, “You know you should at times take walks and talk more with the other patients.”

 

“I want to Sigourney but it is not necessarily safe.” Tim’s own admission made her remember his positionality, it also reminded Tim of his predicament, “I mean there are a few patients I talk to. Two were nice to invite me to their homes.” Tim’s lip trembled, and Sigourney felt sad, she was wondering if she should have asked this question now. This whole-time Tim has been alone in a way aside Eddie. As a Variant, which she was somewhat familiar with, there was no way yet he knew how he could bond with everyday citizens. Then, they were on the run from Murkoff. There was the risk of accidentally speaking to the wrong people or to people close by the wrong people. Tim seemed genuinely interested in knowing others. “You know.” He started this quite peacefully, “I told you that me and brother were kinda strange. When we met Miles Upshur, I wanted his liver and tongue —“

 

“Did you wanna eat them?” Sigourney said this with an indifferent voice though he could see she was stern, how unrelaxed she was as she was holding her mug. Not judgmental. Just bracing for harsh truths.

 

“Not really: I am not sure what I wanted to do with it.” Tim truthfully, and in his firm and gentle way looked at her, “I may have eaten them. Or, kept them as trophies.” Tim looked ashamed, “I didn’t mean to but we were like that. Vile and full of that kind of violence. Trying to get back at the wrong people; in the wrong ways.”

 

Sigourney nodded. There was no judgment from here. She eased herself. “I am sorry if I seemed like I was labelling you.” She smiled, “I am not used to dealing with your form of action. I won’t say case. Case sounds cold. A coldness you probably are too used too. And, I won’t pity you. I feel you survived a whole lot deal. Of many things. I admire that fortitude and perseverance and even development of empathy you are showing now.”

 

“You know what to say.” Tim smiled back, his restlessness gone, “And I am certain it is more to do with what kind of _person_ you are than what kind of _therapist_ — yeah, I have been under therapy on Murkoff ground and I have learned that there is a great difference, a gulf even, between a man and his occupation. In your case, woman, but you are not manning this with the lies and apathy fed to that lot. Nor, do you seem to have ulterior motives. I remember a physiatrist who also handled Father Martin, who enthused over his Michelangelo feats so to speak, and even if he was selfish. He showed selective sympathy and did not care for people he thought too far removed to be cured or saved. I guess in some ways he could be analogous to a self-righteous priest in some church of allopathic medicine. So, Thank You. It means a lot what you said.” Ending his conversation Tim started leafing through the book, it’s page corners had sepia contours and he rubbed them with his fingers. This book had a sense of belonging he envied. How funny, we humans even envy the inanimate.

 

“You seem to like how the book looks.” Sigourney drinks his tea. She then excuses herself for a few moments as he she leaves the room. There was a makeshift kitchenette, a few rooms down. She returns with hot tea for the both of them. “It’s English Rose, Whittard. I think it is a good afternoon tea, especially late afternoon.”

 

Tim looked at the inscription on the tea packet: “English Rose No. 12.” He then tore the packet, a bit unevenly, and proceeded to put the bag in his mug. He saw a pool of translucent water darken with deeper golden-brown, almost dark earthy colour, and the heavenly fragrance: rosy with the tea essence. He loved this about his stay in the clinic. Back in the asylum everything was so sanitised, so quarantined, so regulated that even some inmates use to lick dirty glasses of windows when it rained to feel the fresh condensation of shower. They would love mists and figs due to the fact it brought in undeniable vapours from an outside world they were barred from. Over here, things were a washed with spatial and sensory delights. Initially, like Wallie, he felt overwhelmed and tears would sometimes come out — out of stress, happiness, sorrow from what he had been missing. Now, he was able to enjoy this fully without feeling overwhelmed. And, he enjoyed ever bit of it.

 

Sigourney saw his happy face and realised that so-called “normal” people took so many things for granted. She too was one of them. Some people comically ask if anyone has stopped to smell the roses. Truth was, have they really done so, in any way? She had been a workaholic. She took Eddie and Tim as extra people to communicate with. There was already some trouble brewing over this retirement home she worked with. Some of the old have apparently having this collective hallucination — though she worked there part time, like she did mostly everywhere else, her commitment to the patients were actually getting her into trouble. Ironic, as it sounded, she had tried to reason with staff that perhaps there was something (an interloper presumably) who has been stalking or stealing in the home at night. She wanted her patients to know she truly think they were credible. Some may have been close to dementia but not all of them. She also believed that dementia was not the catch-all of everything. Thus, she also wanted to believe those patients as well. Aside, this hallucination they were having, of ghost noises and ghost blots here and there, some other things were catching up to her.

 

 A hospital disagreement somewhere else has been pre-empting (almost refusing) to renegotiate terms and renew her contract. Though she was a fine worker the hospital authority and a wealthy client had found “allegations” against her on being too “left-wing.” Truth was the son of a prominent business was not interested in going into the family business. He was not an artistic soul in the far-gone 90’s terminology would say “bohemian” (she was a 90’s kid, named after Sigourney Weaver and nowadays she felt there were too many avenues of subcultures and even mainstream culture for that term to have a fully credible focal point), though he was rebellious in the sense he wanted to be a criminologist. The only terms he was willing to negotiate was being a crime lawyer though his fathers’ firms worked with litigation. The parents were furious when she had told him to just talk to them and show how branching out and forging a new path at the moment, in the now, was good enough. Besides, she also said harmoniously the crime lawyer option was not bad. It was bad to say any option than what those parents wanted it seemed. As they were wealthy donors to the hospital the authority figure was kissing ass.

 

Aside these debacles she had a teenager she was treating on an abuse case. The rebellious teen kept off going off and doing odd jobs and weird things until he finally came back home when he wished to. His parents seemed like decent people though Sigourney wasn’t sure if it was a front yet or the young man had restlessness issues. He didn’t talk about school as a hell, though, he thought it was a cage to hold youth at bay. A pit where then passions and hormones incubate and eventually topple over. She was keen on his analysis because secretly she had had similar feelings about school life. All, those seem long ago now. In her childhood and teenage years that seemed so far away.

 

Julian Kairos and she — what were they? She loved his quest for truth. But sometimes was in loath of him not taking a breather, on relying on others. There was an attraction, perhaps between them, though none of them ever talked on it and acted on it. Julian right now was dating a model, or seeing. He didn’t know how his level of commitment with her worked. This is another aspect of Julian. Though he hated the superficial and the seemingly charming surface he himself went for a model because he knew he was somewhat typecasting. He did not seem to want to know the young woman; nor, did he want to be by himself. She found this a typical problem with masculinity. The fear of isolation that allows them to breed the disingenuous. And she was not typecasting either — she knew men were not always intrinsically like this. Social mores and expectation played a part on this: no matter cis or trans, straight or queer. Women did this too. However, they tried to make sure their superficial relationships had also “worthwhile” in them. They too were afraid of being alone yet they acted pretty much better the way that their person who they got out of loneliness could stand out. A typical problem with social constructed femininity, whether cis or trans, straight or queer.

“You haven’t drunk your tea yet…” Tim stated, seeing she was drinking it so much before and enjoying it, “Don’t tell me you wanted something else?” Tim smiled.

 

“No, I am sorry. I am just…” Sigourney looked at him, “Thinking of my life in general at the moment.”

 

“Is it hectic?”

 

“You could say that. I am sorry I didn’t mean to interfere with your time.” Sigourney felt a bit embarrassed; she hadn’t expected to think away so long into a reverie.

 

Sigourney realised that by dazing off she didn’t seem at all disingenuous or disinterested to her “patient.” It was hard to call him that: loosely he was one, on another scale he was like a friend. It is true she never in detail talked about her own problems with him; though, she felt this was more on the limitations imposed by time rather than the anything else. Alongside the fact, that Tim needed someone deeply to talk to and vent to and she was his therapist after all. There was no two ways about it. She was prioritising him because it was her job but also because she wanted to. Tim, deliberately, in the beginning, hid truths from her. Then, finally, he talked about his past a bit more (the recommended bits as Julian specified that knowing too much too early may overwhelm her or put her in danger). He had skirted around his childhood. Also, he finally did talk about it. It was sad, depressing, neglectful; full of episodes of starvation, literally. Some people exaggerate. She was happy that with Tim she found no exaggeration. He was blatantly honest about not finding proper clothes to eat, not finding proper and enough food to eat, for him and his brother having development issues that branded them as “stupid” and put the “r” slang on them repeatedly. Their confidences, what little they had, assassinated by the taunts, beatings and unkindness of other people. Their own mother not that insightful or concerned to help them. Both their parents as skilled drug abusers and how they could have known the names of various drugs and narcotics before they could properly tell their alphabet. For them “f” didn’t mean “frog” it had always meant “fuck” and “s” was for “shit” than “sugar.” Thinking about all these things made her remember her own privileges. The fact she had a balanced home. A good old fashioned working parents. The only complaint she could really give is that they gave her less time, and that is only sometimes, because after a particular age she herself knew that she would not really bask all the time even in their willing affections. She would go to the mall or do things by herself. Developing her own individuality and her own tastes. What would she had done, she thought, if these happened to her and cultural and social mores isolate the female body under more strategically, discriminatory categories?

 

She would not easily become a psychiatrist. That is true. Probably, she would have gone to many (and she had gone to some in her life) and they strike her as people wanting theories and money. Many, would want a one-size-fits-all shape: many would show biases towards gender. Ironically, she knew female psychiatrists who were kinder to their male patients, all accommodating, but instead of pioneers they kept particular social hegemonies on the concerned female sex. She felt bad already for their trans and queer patients (queer meaning here all gendered and non-gendered personalities including sexual orientations) because they may still not be well educated to understand that people are not gonna fit the categories society had for them. They would not be mature enough to handle all truths. So, she would have grown up, like Tim DuPont, hating people of this discipline and science; she would call them castrators rather than pioneers.

 

Even now, in her field, there were countless peers and colleagues she didn’t get along with because their thinking was either “ultra-modern”, so composed of theoretical erudition that they valued the “post everything” dogma and not look at competing, contradicting realities, or they served as “wayward traditionalists” who would impose, even unconsciously, on things that would rather harm than heal their patients. She found them both luddites, expanding the term, seeing that the category could also be applied to people fearing change and one could be “modern” and fear the press of other modernity or the fear of the classic still in perpetuity. Not that she was flawless. She did sometimes get too involved and she had to refine her own methods as well. What she had learned, from both books and experience, is that one should be compassionate of others but not let it be an “excuse” for their “bad behaviours.”

 

She believed that Bertrand Russell wasn’t wrong when he attacked logic and reason, ironically, on the grounds that people could somehow fashion a bullshit, which was reasonable enough, to get away from their crimes and just give a logical excuse for them. There wasn’t a heart admission or a searing confession. Everything belonged to some logic even if it was hard to quantify or even qualify. At least, Tim wasn’t doing that. A sign of maturity and development, of paradoxically, innocence and experience, is when realises no one reason or what one experienced is enough reason for their actions. Actions are multidimensional agents with series of repercussions. We realise this as we go older or when we had interacted and accumulated the “right” experiences. It is hard to realise this without proper agents of erudition or what we have gathered from our life. It is hard to know one’s blessings without meeting people who highlighted them, called forth our talents; without realising our sensitivities are useful but so is our patience.

 

Even now, if she went back to the argument of tutelage to be a psychiatrist she also came to the mountainous fact that her economy, alongside her disparaged sex, would both encumber her greatly. She thought of all the possibilities that would have had happened to Tim and Tom DuPont if they lived with a society that cared, better parents and better money. Surely, they had such a talent for adaptability and such calming voices they surely could have lead different lives if not a complete upgrade (there was also extenuating circumstances around). But, it was not too late. They seemed keen on the foundations of salvation. As long there was life, everything is salvageable. She was honoured to have a patient like him. Who wasn’t giving excuses. Who felt he did wrong and wanted a better path. People in today’s world like this was rare. Though, this was necessarily a bad thing, a horrible lacking. Looking at others screwed others over even for a dollar’s worth (lesser still) and how online communities were becoming cancerous in their mistreatment.

 

“No.” Tim looked happy, “When I was in the asylum I always searched for humanity in the doctors who worked on me. They were pretty insensitive and self-centered lot. Looking at me as a tasty experiment waiting to cannibalise me. And, in some ways they did eat me. With you, it’s different. You were daydreaming. That is so human. I am not all upset. I wanted to say Thank you for being so unapologetically human in the simplest of ways. The basics are incredibly beautiful at times.”

 

Sigourney smiled after a moment she processed her many thoughts: “Thank You, Tim DuPont, I need an understanding human being like you. Therapy, any communication,” she added that because she was not lecturing on her profession, she had to clarify that, “Requires the intuition, energy and patience from both parties.”

 

Tim nodded, “You know,” he sipped his tea, twice, slightly pressing his lips, appreciating the taste, “I know you wanna talk about Tom. I will gladly say I was worried about him you know. But, Sigourney, unless he tells me what he is up to I am in the dark, you know?” Tim just looked at her, earnestly, “I am not sure if he is completely alright. But he is basically my older brother and I need to trust him to make his own decisions.” A nodding gesture of approval from Sigourney made him go on, “It’s like one of the reasons we parted is to experience the world in our own unique way, with our own autonomies. We have had only each other. We were lucky to have each other. But we also needed some space apart. Though, it does bother me I don’t know what he is up to at the moment.”

 

Sigourney looked calm, then smiled brightly, “A part of growth is to acknowledge the  _dependence_ and independence of others. That they will have their own devices, respective, if not isolated from our own. And to acknowledge their growth we must sometimes leave them to said devices. Trust them enough to know they will do by us and themselves the right things. When they have our trust and our faith, if they too are growing and our responsible, will prove us worthy of that trust and faith. So, being bothered show you care. But, lessening it, also shows you care enough.”

 

Tim closed his eyes, breathed out a sigh of relief and looked positively pleased: “Thank You so much Sigourney. Even if I am gonna worry a bit still I am glad you told me that. I feel Tom did the best thing leaving Miles and Wallie. Frankly, it will put them also into perspective. It will make them work on themselves.” Then quietly, “It is hard for him also because — because you see Tom had a crush on Miles Upshur.” Sigourney looked like she somewhat already suspected, “Thing is if I favoured Waylon Park a bit more it was because I valued his paternal style. It is true that Miles was also paternal with us but Tom looked at his passion for words, his vocation as a journalist and a supporter of truths to be quite attractive. I suppose Tom was completely interested in Miles’s abilities.” Then Tim looked solemn, “You can imagine his disappointment during these months. Miles shunned the written word, showed no interest in books, in fact, showing a fear for them and then also not investigating anything of any import. Tom is not a teen so he was patient that everyone had to discover themselves after a crisis like Mount Massive added the close intimacy and growing love between Miles and Waylon resulting in the events from last year. But, Miles is like half-time angry, half-time callous, half-time arguing with Wallie and half-time going into drunken spells. Sometimes he abuses alcohol, sometimes he abused food, I heard at one point last year Miles became a bit overweight, Wallie had a hard time moving about because it seems added weight or even losing weight initially affected that guy, you know they are kinda bonded. Then recently, he is abusing not eating food. He abuses chocolates and caffeine now. In one day, he like drinks even 10 mugs of caffeinated, black coffee and nothing Tom was saying was changing his mind. Tom couldn’t take it.”

 

“I mean how can he,” Sigourney looked disturbed, “that is a very stressful environment. How can someone easily take that? I think Miles should have stayed here and maybe I could have or someone else should have talked to him.”

 

“Well, Eddie fucked that up, didn’t he?” Tim looked slightly angry now, “If Eddie didn’t start accusing Miles for being a loser. Miles would have stayed!”

 

“Yes, but be fair Tim,” Sigourney approached gently the topic, “You know Miles and Eddie both blamed each other equally. If they are at fault they are equally at fault.”

 

“But Eddie should have understood you know.” Tim looked desperate, “That other guy, Sigourney, he was a skilled fighter. He moved so fast and though he looked emaciated, he was actually lithe and muscular and each punch, I also got one, with his smaller frame still hurt like hell. There was no way than a miracle that Miles would have won as he was. Miles ia s journalist he isn’t some martial arts expert. I mean surely Eddie should have got this.”

 

“I am not at liberty and it would be unethical to say all of what Eddie says to me.” Sigourney started, “But I can say that both of you are credible. I think you know why. Eddie’s outlook is mixed with other things and his perspective counts too. But I won’t humour either of you by stating one of you is unequivocally right. I do believe, however, that both of you can talk this carefully over. I can’t be the one who fully fixes this because both of you won’t fully take it from me.” She added in quickly before he could say something.

  

With his mouth still open, Tim closed it, “Damn doc, all of this is so confusing at times.” Scratching his head, “But we need to investigate and we need to proceed carefully and I know that Eddie and I are getting quite restless doing nothing —“

 

“Recovery is something. You are doing something. Look, depression, trauma, they are not _things_. Tim, they are as horrible as enemies as people chasing you. I understand your feelings of restlessness. Really, I do,” Tim’s questioning stare made her reaffirm, “I know maybe I have not faced the nightmare you faced but we are all in some nightmare or the other in our lives, especially, if we are striving to do different things. You must understand that you must become mentally, emotionally and physically healthy enough before you undertake anything. Seeing, you guys are being chased, such a reprieve, such a period of caution and rest may not come again for a while. Savour it as much as possible.”

 

“I guess you are right.” Tim just chuckled a bit, “I am not used to getting a breather like this.”

 

“So,” Sigourney looked a bit excited and Tim looked at her questioningly, “Who is this friend that your older, twin brother is happy to go around with? Do you know them?”

 

“I don’t personally know them, per say, but she is a friend of Miles Upshur. Her name is Yesfir, yeah, Yesfir,” Tim felt the slightly different name on his tongue, it wasn’t Spanish or East Asian, he felt it could be South Asian or Middle Eastern, “Her full name is Yesfir Nova Wayra.”

 

“I think I know… know her…a bit.”  Sigourney looked at Tim’s wide-eyed stare, “Oh, don’t worry I know her as I think I heard her recite a poem or two once at a conference I attended. Unfortunately, we did exchange contact addresses but we didn’t really communicate. She wrote this poem I liked called ‘Letter to my Other Psyche within the Something of a Psyche-Shell’ and I laughed a bit because after that title was ‘you suck/I wished I didn’t know you better/ like are you my alter-ego’s feminine-side/ ‘cause you understand me a bit lesser than whatever the masculine-side supposed to be/ I don’t mind the Pedi Mani/ but, this obsession with fandom shipping gotta stop/ — I remembered it because she read these lines to me a few more times after the performance. It was nice of her.”

 

“So, Tom is hanging around with a poet huh?” Tim started softly laughing, clutched his face with his right hand. After a few moments, when he was done laughing, he looked up and saw Sigourney’s amused face, “It’s that I didn’t picture him running around with a poet type of person.”

 

“Well, you didn’t picture yourself and me having a chat like this. I guess this is why truth is stranger than fiction and Rorschach blots of life outweighs the viewing of a paper drawing.” Sigourney smiled and chuckled a bit herself.

 

“Well, you got me. Are you waxing poetic too?” Tim closed his eyes, nodded and then asked her.

 

“Oh, poetry can be therapeutic.” Sigourney just added, musing for a moment, then drinking her tea again. Sip slow, but gulf hard, deep in that thought of how arts are important.

 

“Well, I guess he may need that form of counselling.” Tim looked outside. They had been talking for more than an hour and Sigourney, being a bit lax with her hours (perhaps, she had no more patients either), had been conversing with him all this time. The trees outside, he could name some, the wild bushes (wondered if they had berries of any kind) and the soft air that seemed to rustle now. It would probably later rain a bit. The glasses may be frosted or foggy depended on how atmospheric pressure handles it with, with cool or with humidity. He would probably take a walk outside after dinner. Maybe, even Eddie was feeling well, he would gladly take him out on a wheelchair, so as to stop overexertion. They could use this time to be leisurely and just be. After all, Sigourney was right…

 

— There was no telling when they would have moments like this again.

 

* * *

 

 

Jeremy Blaire made pancakes. He hummed a tune and breathed in and out; flipping the batter, seeing it crackle and fizzle. Seeing it become into brownish thin solid after a gelatinous batter. The sun was out even though it was winter. A thin sheet of snow had fallen; the snow licking them on the remnants of leaves and cooling strokes of branches. Out of his residence, or his home, yeah “home” in some way, he had Waylon Park here, Jeremy looked out and felt a quiet, humming bliss. If only — if only this this were the unequivocal truth. Parts of it were. His feelings were Waylon were real. However, it is hard to love someone you cannot be honest and truthful with fully. What was that Roxanne Gay said? There was a difference between honesty and truth. People could be honest, she wrote in her novel _An Untamed State_ , without being truthful. Honesty, in those contexts, was the ability to assess a situation and embellish and erase what needed to be and what was needed to be presented was presented. That was to some honesty. Truth is the delivery, unbiasedly, of all the things said and unsaid. Though, to many, rightfully so, honesty and truth were one and the same.

 

Jeremy loved Waylon. That was both honesty and truth. But, he was being coerced to fucking lie to him. That was also honesty and truth. The fact they made love, or, whatever the fuck it was they did, last night even, made him sick. Waylon was in a good mood. He said he had a meeting with Victor Dalloway and that he was directing him as Professor Tuftbrooke was away on a conference for a few days and left behind some materials.  He was excited because he was also taking some of how own classes, aside also helping some of the Professor’s, one was about Virginia Wolfe and the other was about Gertrude Stein. Jeremy did not know if he should be happy. The happiness that Waylon felt was not all dishonest or a lie. Waylon was intelligent enough to teach those things. But, it was a half-truth, a half-life: meant to burn away and implode on itself. He was just so unhappy that he had been pigeonholed into this plan. What was he gonna do? Say no? He saw what they did to Trager what he kinda said “no” on helping around in something. He was starved for a while and Darian personally himself aided in beaten the crap outta him before he said uncle and was taken away to be treated.

 

 A part of him did it for Darian. He knew he liked the younger man a bit. What if Darian was asked to beat him? He knew he would do so but he would personally first hit himself or shake before hitting him. Wouldn’t he? Something told him that some reluctance and hurt would be there. Even if he had love for Waylon; he couldn’t deny he was starting to have some feelings for Darian. It was not just the sex. He felt Darian’s feelings, his loneliness, his ambitiousness, cleverness, seductive nature was somewhat similar to his own. Ironically, he saw the volatile nature of Waylon’s sexuality. When Waylon was focused in “for the kill” so to speak. He could be cruelly gently, aggressively tender and when he made love to you, either way, it was like he plucked your flesh with his tongue and chewed and sucked the marrow of your bones and put yourself and himself into a broth of souls. Not to devour but to luxuriate. With Waylon all his orgasmic screams, high volume, earth shattered out of orbit were true and honest as they came (all puns intended).

 

With Darian, everything in sex had been more or less physical and a good distraction. It was a game too. Only in some cases of bonding did something materially substantial arise and remain. Having sex for sex’s sake was not always great: it all depended on context and here the context had been manipulation and distraction. And, sex for sex’s sake need not be only a “good time” — with Waylon even if there was no emotional like love making session the visceral and the physical mated with perfect pitch. With Waylon, even in the bedfellow of lies, he felt this tangy-sweet build that was absent with Darian. Well, until now. They had made out a bit when this charade started. They had refrained from sex. Darian knew that it would be a risk and Jeremy didn’t like the idea of cheating on Waylon. Once, Darian was aroused to the point of taking the risk but Jeremy had pushed him away and Darian had punched him. His explanation, automatically came, that he was a married man. Darian looked a bit shocked. His tongue pressing against his mouth as he didn’t realise Jeremy took his marital duties so seriously. Jeremy felt he already put Waylon through shit, was putting him through shit and any excess shit and he was being a gaudy, two cents drama whore. He already was betraying Waylon and the semen icing on this cake would be actually fucking someone else. Besides, Jeremy loved making love with Waylon.

 

He loves ruffling the other man’s hair, cupping his face, kissing his cheek. His heart. His fucked-up heart treated Waylon Park as a prince. He kissed his eyes and cuddled him in bed. Waylon, post-sex, looked yummier than before because he looked a mix between cute and sexy. So, exhausted yet so adorable with his face and lips a bit wet with sweat and saliva and the glistening of any other fluids and the fact he could catch a sweet shade of window light and curl up sometimes in foetus position, or half-side and looked overwhelmingly calm and perfect. It was like he was a master weaver of dreams thus sleep admired him. He would sometimes wake up early to just see Waylon for a few minutes before deciding to cook this beautiful man some nice breakfast. Waylon liked cooking but Jeremy preferred to make many meals even if his cooking was not always excellent. He also loved cooking with Waylon. When Waylon was with him cooking he did seem less angry, though there was once a time when Waylon gripped too hard on a knife, hus knuckles almost turning white and he looked in a daze of rage at him. Jeremy was prepared to punch him if he tried to stab him but he didn’t want to. No matter what they did sometimes that something inside Waylon, whether chaotic nostalgia or a recognition of his personalities and uncorrupted feelings, would start to emerge and also expand and extend this persona and he would be angry. Not that he could blame Waylon. Anger was the sanest emotion here. Patience would become the perversion.

 

Waylon, like strip-mining, had his topography wasted. Not that he wasn’t intelligent enough. He had a good IQ people back at the labs said. They could give him a new “template” to follow and with some measurement of “practice” he would inhabit this persona with less “distractions.” Jeremy did not think Waylon’s anger, even though now subconscious, was a distraction. It was the rawest and honest emotion here. Though, so were his happiness in teaching and doing small tasks. It was Jeremy who a part of him knew was a lie. And, that really shamed Jeremy. It angered him too. He so wanted to be real enough for Waylon. Wasn’t he? No, he was lying. The context was lie but the elements involved were real. That was a strange fit. Usually, elements were governed by contexts. Though no one could deny that a double context, like some set theorem, could exist.

 

Maybe, this was the very epitome of dreaming?

 

He couldn’t really tell. All of this, garbage. And, then he actually had to read emails in secret. Waylon was not nosey, in fact the poor, other man sometimes lost traces of thought (it was for the fucking numbing drugs) and he sometimes seemed to cry softly. Tears. As though he remembered a strong overwhelming emotion or the emotional fragments of his true memories. Jeremy had once or twice tried to console him but experience taught him that Waylon would get really unhappy when he went to do that. Almost, like he was attacking him. This made Heremy chose when to console the other man. In the tip of his tongue the word “husband” always stayed. Even if it was a lie he wanted it so badly. The feeling of Waylon as his husband. He never thought so closely of settling down. He wondered if it were possible. The few times he thought about it, it was mostly with a woman. Though, there were a handful of times he thought of it being with a man. Though, with Waylon, the imagination seemed singed and churning with so many possibilities. Would they get a surrogate? Would they adopt? Would they have a family later aside themselves? Jeremy, personally, wanted a daughter with Waylon’s face, eyes and hair but his gutsy attitude. When the daydreaming broke down he realised what a fool he was being. He was tricking Waylon and all he could think about was a daughter they could have together. He even mouthed names, “Annabelle”, “Desdemona”, “Ophelia”,“ Philippa”, “Titania”, “Tiana”, “Josephine”, “Clarice”, “Vanessa” and then realise that one of those names came from Shakespeare — Titania, the queen of fairies in A Midsummers Night’s Dream, who is duped by Oberon to sleep with an ass and then her changeling boy is taken away from her. Being duped. That was all of this wasn’t it?

 

There was changeling boy — well, there was a changeling Walrider. The Walrider served as a form of changeling.

 

Well, thinking back to the emails. One was from Pauline Glick; it started with no “Hi” or “Hello” but showed a picture of a severed head. Jeremy recognised him and almost hid and/or dropped his laptop because he wasn’t sure what to do first. It was one of the security guards at Mount Massive. They had met up and he said he had threatened a guy in administration for trying to call the National Guard. It seemed that Chris Walker, that fuck of muscle and weight, this ton of storm in compound frame, got to him and had put his head in a spike. Glick had gotten it out and actually put on a plate (he wondered if she got someone to help her with that shiny looking dinner and the whole framing of it) and she had teasingly put.

 

“ _Hey, Jer,_

_Saw your recent photos. I think you lost some weight? I don’t know in one of those hospital fics your arm and lower torso on your right side seems almost like a rag doll number. It like almost seems to pop out of its sockets and nerves. What did some piano fall on you, hehehehe, I kid you know I know what fucking happened. Sorry, for the pic was feeling like dicking around. If you must know I am on the Mount Massive case and doing pretty well. Now, that you aren’t part of the hunt, maybe we can have that drink — introduce me to your ‘husband’ too. I had been trying to track that fucker down. Does, he blink like E.T. wanna go home and all of that? I gotta say, gotta give you the guts (some pun intended) that you are willing to screw around with the whistleblower — is he blowing your whistle nowadays? Okay, that sounded a bit too much like a cunt comment. Anyways, glad you still can keep your dick up. Andrew Lanes is still and incontinent asshole. Apparently, they need him around for still some Waylon stuff, you know how he fantasized about Park, and they also need his stuff for Billy. Though, they would probably use his expertise on the schematics Murkoff still requires for the Morphogenic Engine. They plan to do some readings on the old scale. I guess we will meet each other soon. I heard that pussy-cumshot-dick stain Richard Trager is still alive. I don’t think he is getting a hair implant soon is he hehehehehehe I hope to meet Trager if possible. I think we might each other soon. As you know Wernicke may want an audience with us soon. I haven’t seen that old fuck for, I dunno, around 6 months now, I am thinking he has been removed or whatever by Helen Granat, you know the creepy bitch and her bitch twin brother, Henri Granat? But, I guess he might be still be alive, his egress not happening anytime soon. And, maybe we can then get a drink. Bring your cutie Waylon along. I pretty much tarnished his name online you know. His real name. Whatever he uploaded now may also mean jack-shit. Of course, there are still police investigations. But, they are treating it more like a normal riot now. By the way, keep on the lookout for a snotty bitch journalist and her bitch cop. Genevieve Amis is the name of that cunt journalist — probably put a nail in her coffin soon.  The cop, may be on paid leave, must got a good record for that, Carmen Rojas. You just keep your eyes peeled. See, if they try to get contact with Waylon. And, yay, enjoy this dude’s head on a plate. Bon appetite for your eyes,_

_Kudos_

_Glick._ ”

 

After a while, Jeremy didn’t feel so good. It took him a lot of self-control to not let the vomit drip down his mouth as he went and shot out all that he had eaten since breakfast. It had been his day-off and he had been thinking to spend it just reading and maybe cooking something for Waylon when he got back him. Waylon cooked something nice and gentle that night. He came home to find his husband Jeremy, sweating, getting a mild fever. He wasn’t sure what happened but Waylon instantly got very protective and for a moment he just looked at Jeremy when he said “Can you help me, please?” And he staggered back a bit; as if something, _clicked_. _Oh shit_ , Jeremy though, grabbing his stomach, _not now_. Then, as if suddenly it came, it passed and Waylon looked happy again, not at his condition, obviously (man, wasn’t some sadistic fuck, or, was it just he was happy seeing Jeremy suffer? Nope, he was happy for trying to care for him). Waylon smiled and said he was just glad he can prove his worth to Jeremy.

 

For the first time, not that he didn’t understand before, just the gravity set in. Waylon really did feel bad at how sometimes he acted, behaved and also seemed to just lose it. Like, he felt he wasn’t good enough for Jeremy Blaire. Jeremy started almost laughing hysterically; much to the shock of Waylon. “Your fever is not that high.” Waylon had muttered helplessly, getting the old-fashioned thermometer out (Waylon insisted that the readings more accurate so he kept the modern one, the glass one also seemed to be to his liking. Jeremy realised this may been a habit that was retained for his real life. And, that somewhat hurt). Jeremy said he was fine and Waylon got quiet. Disturbingly slow. “Are you…are you laughing at me?” “Of course not, don’t think that!” Jeremy protested, “I am just thinking…” he stopped, “That I always knew one day I would be in this situation. I guess, I am looking forward to be taken care by you.” “For a change huh?” “Don’t be silly Waylon.” And, Waylon had cooked soft rice, made some meat balls and some softened spaghetti (he even cut the length so as Jeremy could easily swallow) and he made some cool grape juice and some lemon juice saying he should have them. Jeremy didn’t know why he got sick. Then he realised that he was reminded of the crushing reality of it all. Of the fact he wasn’t really married to Waylon. That Mount Massive, even though almost one and a half years away, was still fresh and it did _happen_. That it would stay with him. That he was given some experimental drugs by Murkoff. That he was still taking the medicine (said it was for sudden low pressure to Waylon) and that he didn’t know it’s full potency. Would he dependent on it for life? Were they giving him a less resilient batch so he needed to get more stuff from them later? All of these questions, which he did think from time to time, just came in full force. He just felt dizzy and then he got sick.

 

The fact that all of this was too much for him at times would be a tragic understatement. But, he was soldiering through it all. Though, he did wanna run many a times. The strain of it got to him at times. And, he wondered if the drugs, his medicine, made it worse for him? That was a good question to ask. He was actually thinking…should he? He was actually thinking of getting Darian to investigate the drugs. Yeah, it was probably true that Leitner knew what he was on? Question was: would Darian tell him anything? Second Question: Would Darian even be willing to go and investigate this? If not for him, but just for passing time? Third Question: Would he get into trouble for this? He didn’t know if he could still trust Darian and seeing they haven’t had sex in a while he wondered if Darian had any incentive to help him out, not that sex was always so willingly offered, seeing their context was always that he was still a prisoner of Murkoff even being one of their executives. Well, wasn’t Darian also a bit like that? A hired assassin and heavy guard against the conglomerate? Though, they still were having their little cat and mouse. Knowingly. They were eagerly also waiting each other out. Seeing, appreciating, what new move next. Maybe, Darian too wanted to test some hypotheses and was eagerly waiting a chance to meet him? Yet, truth be told. Both of them were also pretty much now being honest. If not fully.

 

In that moment, Speak of the devil, Jeremy got a call, “Darian,” he started slowly, “I was actually thinking about you…I —“

 

“Were you really?” he sounded annoyed, “I thought Waylon’s secretions clogged all your brain cells.”

 

“Don’t be like that.” Jeremy actually sounded hurt, “You know I didn’t really arrange this.”

 

“Not like you are highly miserable for it. Don’t sound _too_ innocent Blaire, you kinda wanted this.” Darian scoffed.

 

Blaire? Using his last name kinda hurt, “Don’t call me that!” Jeremy snapped. There was a silence on the other line for a few moments.

 

“Sorry.”

 

“I am sorry too.”

 

They both could feel each other’s grins.

 

“I did call for a reason.”

 

“Name it.”

 

“Look, Jeremy…” Darian seemed to be testing the air, “ I was wondering, if Habrok came and haunted Waylon…” before Jeremy could say anything, “Wouldn’t that be kinda fun?”

 

 _So, he made the first move_ , Jeremy was gripping angrily on the phone, sighed a bit, breathed in sharply, _Not surprised, I am not sure if Lanes is distraction enough,_ “This isn’t like Lanes and if ou feel you and me not doing it is the way you wanna go about it like this. You’re hell wrong!” Angrily gripping the phone, his patience slipping, “This is obscene Darian! Even for you!”

 

“Like you got standards _now_.” Darian pierced through the conversation; tongue sharp and deadly.

 

“I always did. Are you gonna say you are subpar on the standard scale.” Jeremy wittingly retorted, “Didn’t see you complaining when I was sucking your cock.”

 

“Fuck you Blaire — okay, sorry about that.” His anger turned to apology when he heard an angry scowl from the other line.

 

“Leitner, sorry,” hearing a similar response, “Look, I can’t do this to Waylon. I am already hurting him enough as it is. Don’t you get that, Darian?”

 

“I know you care about him.” Darian sounded annoyed as hell, “But, do you have to make it so _apparent_?”

 

“Why not, Darian?” Jeremy quietly answered, “You know I do feel something for him.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Darin sounded dismissive, then more attentively, “I know you care about him but I need this okay? You, you care about me too, right?”

 

“Look, isn’t it obvious I care about you. I kinda do.” Jeremy honestly answered, he was a bit surprised that the other man actually brought it up. Seeing, that he had though maybe pride would have stopped him, “Look, I do care. You care about me too right?”

 

“Look, I was not gonna be a dick and hide that I wanted to hear you say it. We are already far apart and I felt we already have too many boundaries right now amongst us and I didn’t wanna see that anymore, at least not for now. But, you are just an ass. Never wanting to say anything unless I do.” Darian started slowly but the end was a blow. Even if he didn’t scream it. “Why? Waylon got your tongue?”

 

“No. It isn’t that at all and you bloody know that!” Jeremy sounded desperate, “It’s just! I do care.” Jeremy was thankful Waylon wasn’t around, “It is just I need to care about him too Darian. I mean, he only has me somewhat on his side right? I don’t know what drugs they are giving him. They took his life away from him.”

 

“Yeah, I know that it’s tough for that guy.” Darian, surprisingly, sounded understanding, “But you know there are worse fates than this kind of illusion.”

 

“Really?” Jeremy genuinely wanted to know this.

 

“Like knowing you can never go back. Even if you want. And, maybe you are a bit twisted and sick to want to…but you still want it. Waking up and knowing you are all alone and the new person you meet will never be a substitute but you gotta make do. And, that perhaps your life, even though thrilling, was always a bit fucked when your Father got involved with that other dude. Or, maybe, it was always a bit messy ‘cause of your Father in the first place.” Darian spoke these quietly, then laughing, as though nothing happened, “But, Waylon is lucky. He has you and you aren’t really using him for your own goals completely. It’s nice you have a piecemeal conscience in this; if that is the reason. Of course, there is the affection.”

 

Jeremy hadn’t ever heard Darian that sad before. Not even that time when he talked about loneliness. Jeremy had been a fool not to ask how the young man had started working for Murkoff and darian had been a bit wise not to tell. Because, even Jeremy knew, initially, he wouldn’t give a flying fuck. But, now, was there a way to know? Could he handle it if he knew? Should he know? Should that be behind Darin and them? Whatever “they” were? Wasn’t he exclusively Waylon’s? After all the fuck, he is pulling off he would be surprised if Waylon hadn’t ripped off his head like Chris Walker used to. “Look Darian.” Jeremy carefully, lovingly, accentuated his name, he could hear a soft sigh from the other line, “This isn’t an approved thing. Nor else, you would just giving me a cocky order,” he chuckled, and he could hear amusement from the other line too as a form of “hmph,” which was reassuring, “So, why do you wanna do this?”

 

“There is something I need to know, Jeremy. Something I didn’t write up in the reports. I hide from Wernicke and Granat.” Darian confessed, “And, I know they will figure out soon. Maybe, I can appease them with answers, though to be honest, it is mostly about myself.”

 

Jeremy interests were piqued, “What is that?”

 

“Waylon emits, unknowingly I suppose, a bioluminescence that actually disrupts Walrider particles.”

 

“Really?’ Jeremy’s eyes grew wide.

 

“Really.” Darian admitted, “Look, we can discuss this later. It’s almost time for him to come home, right? Let’s talk again soon. Let’s go for a coffee sometime soon.”

 

“Yeah.” Jeremy smiled, “We should Darian.” Then he looked at the clock, “It’s been like a year and we hardly talk or meet anymore. Hard to think you were once my only company.”

 

There was a moment of silence, on the other line, “How is working for Ironsmith? Do they treat you well?”

 

“Yeah. I guess, on a less nefarious and violent scale, I do the same thing I did for Murkoff.” Jeremy scratches his head, then there is light in his voice, “You don’t know how great it is having a job back!” The excitement was pretty potent, “I love the feel of doing paperwork, I actually do! You know looking at company progress, applicant details readdressing, company objectives and how we are gonna move forward in the following quarter. It all is a language that makes sense to me. It is something that I was trained to do and like to do. So, it is all working out for me in a way. I know this is not a permanent position,” oops, hope that was not a slip, according to Glick’s email, but, it was common sense, Ironsmith wouldn’t have him for a long time unless he got really lucky; then again it was only imperative Murkoff would need him back, “But, I am glad I have it.”

 

“I actually am happy you like your job!” Darian really sounded please, the airiness and heartiness in his voice, seemed genuine, not forced in any way, “Though, I miss you. Sometimes, the perverted part of me,” starting carefully, intonating, “Wished I was still your only company…” Then quickly, “I know that sounds wrong —“

 

“Yeah, I know where it’s coming from but it is wrong.” Jeremy sounded a bit disappointed; a sharp intake of breath made Jeremy know Darian was aware of that, “It wasn’t like that for you. You got to move about wherever you wanted! They even had rooms all over that building for you! I was hardly allowed anywhere, was mostly sick and I didn’t do anything of any productivity. Do you how crappy it felt to just have sex with you? I mean it was kinda stupid. I am not some dog you know. Even dogs get to play, go out, I felt my personhood was being stripped from me. And, now you go and say that was an okay arrangement.”

 

“I am sorry, I —“

 

“At least, Waylon, no matter what side we are on, wouldn’t want me to live like that. He would know that was inhumane and sucks.” Jeremy grinned and just said it, without thinking of the implications.

 

He heard Darian hang up on him.

 

After a couple of calls, five long ones to be exact, Darian picked up the phone, “What is it?!”

 

“Why did you hang up?” Jeremy barked, “I am right!”

 

“Yeah, Mr Right of the hour! I said I was sorry! You are a prick! Comparing me with Waylon Park of all people! It’s unfair and it’s wrong and you know that!” Darian sounded so hurt, there were some sobs in his throat, and that made Jeremy realising he was crossing a line, impermissible indecency, “I did not think about it that way…” Darian continued a moment, a bit in sobs, a bit in anger, “I may move about, and you are right, I could, you couldn’t, but I didn’t think of it that way. So, I said sorry. I didn’t know you were so bothered by it. I knew you were sad things were not going up to speed but I thought you were glad you didn’t die. Glad to be still around. And yeah, we still have our cat and mouse on, I thought you found that thrilling. I didn’t see the other side of the coin. The fact that it can seem indefatigably miserable, claustrophobic, inane and filled with a lot of ennui. I guess, because I was on the move I didn’t see the other weightier side. The side that held you prisoner, I knew that, but, you know. The fact you felt so out of place. I just assumed you could use the break, seeing all you have experienced. But, I guess even people have limits to their breaks.”

 

“Well, I was initially relieved. Even now I am a prisoner. That Vivian Slavic keeps more tabs on me nowadays. She wishes to help Danielle run more blood tests. I feel like a walking experiment at times Darian. Even now, but I am glad, grateful that I can move around. Thank God, I feel like I am coming close to some feasible or satisfactory life I have had before. Yes, I am sorry Darian. I know your probably meant it _innocently_ , _naively_ ,” It felt strange using those adjectives with Darian, but he was surprised that they could apply to him, “I mean you are _inexperienced_ in these lines of emotions. But, trust me, it sucks.” Then he felt the word “inexperienced” applied more to him that those other adjectives. Though, they could all apply, in their own twisted ways.  

 

“The day Wernicke entered my life,” Darian began solemnly, catching Jeremy a bit off, “I knew, the life I once knew, with my Father, would be completely over. It was just painful to admit it at first. Regardless, of what luxuries and privileges I had, I could not leave, not that I always wanted to, I was a willing prisoner in many ways, but I was a prisoner no doubt, no less. It’s like I have never had a life where I was planning things solely for myself, only the aim was for myself, here everything revolves around the conglomerate. I have tortured for them, killed for them, broke Andrew Lanes apart for them (not that I didn’t enjoy hurting that little fucker for myself) and then I got Slicestorm, Habrok. I mean they do take my blood too, feed sometimes strange diets too, I know it is also to keep Habrok stabilised. Sometimes, they tell me to eat more fruit, no meat, then all meat, no fruit — Wernicke also tells me to listen to those doctors and scientists and I do. Do I enjoy it? Not, always. It just happens. I take it as it happens. Day to Day. Perhaps, that’s why, I didn’t realise, for someone whose life was somewhat their own, this schedule may seem completely fucked to them. Not, that it doesn’t seem fucked up to me. I know at times it is. And, sometimes I choose this messiness. This being a prisoner with sadomasochistic zeal. But, you haven’t. So, I guess, what I am trying to say, is that I know how you feel. It does suck at times.”

 

Jeremy forgot about Habrok. Despite, Darian liking the Walrider it seems that they have been attached for a long time. Darian had mentioned once, in bed, how Habrok feels like a shadow always lit, always around; a penumbra that doesn’t fade. Darian couldn’t think of Habrok as completely another being; though, the sad part was he knew that Habrok was. The fact that this parasite was attached to the hip to him all the time may make any person feel exhausted at times. Taking care of Habrok was also, as Jeremy remembered, a constant task. He wasn’t a child but had certain attributes worse than one, after all he was a being that needed a host, needed so much of Darian to just exist and manifest, and do his thing.  Jeremy almost snickered. It seemed “innocent” and “naivety” would also in this case go with him, though anyone would probably choose “inexperienced” more as it would seem less twisted. “Hey, I am sorry.”

 

“That’s okay, remember coffee, an agent who was just monitoring for kicks, said Waylon is just by the door!” Darian gave a “muah” on the other line, as Jeremy heard the front door clicking open, “I hopefully will see you soon, on our date!”

 

“It’s not a date!” Jeremy whispered hoarsely, realising he almost burned one of the pancakes, which he had been cooking, though he had stopped when Darian called, accidentally must have made one or two as a reflex, muscle memory and all, “I am still married and you know I take that a bit seriously!”

 

“And, I admire you for it at times you know.” Darian’s voice sounded pleased, “I mean, it shows loyalty, okay, our coffee-chit chat, sound good to ya, bye love.”

 

“Jeremy, are you okay? I smell something singed.” And Waylon ran to the kitchen, “Oh! I am so relieved!” Waylon went and hugged Jeremy, who hugged him back and rustled his hair with one hand, “Are you making pancakes? Or, making a call?”

 

“Both.” Jeremy laughed, “I needed to call the office and tell them something. I was hoping to use my vacation time this year, like a lot, we are in the UK and we haven’t seen the London Eye yet, wouldn’t that be great. And, we should go to Scotland, see all the places that _Outlander_ makes a reference to. I mean you were telling me you wanted to take some time off; we should do some things together.” This was a partial lie — he did want to go places with Waylon; it hurt him though that he was hiding something else from Waylon. Though he held him close. As if, all of that would make him feel better.

 

“I am so glad you are making plans!” Waylon smiled and kissed Jeremy hard. Jeremy soaked into it, the warm lips and tongue of the infallibly beautiful, Waylon Park, Waylon Blaire, didn’t really suit him. In the first time in his life, Jeremy had to confess, he was happy that Waylon wasn’t a Blaire. Now, he knew how his younger brother, Garrett, the entomologist, felt, funny, Waylon made him realise some things about his brother, poetic justice in a way, the person he was being mean to was the person who had and brought more clarity than he could muster. “It’s so awesome! I have been meaning to buy a camera! It will be fun!” Waylon looked so happy that Jeremy’s heart melted. He was so happy and _lucky_ to be married to this guy. Though, it was a lie. Something felt genuine as he once stated. It just felt right to be with him. Though, could they ever have a salvageable relationship if the truth was known? He decided not to think about that, at the moment, anyways.

 

“So, do you have a leave coming up?” Jeremy asked Waylon, as he picked and scrutinised the burnt pancake, seemed to break off a piece as if to taste it.

 

“Not really.” Waylon ate the piece, looked a bit repulsed, stuck his tongue out, that made Jeremy thing he was absolutely adorable, “This tastes crispy good but the sugar is too much and it burnt my tongue a bit and the ashen aftertaste is terrible — anyways, I was hoping we go to London for the weekend. I wanted to go to the Disney store on Oxford Street. You said you wanted some plushies too. Let’s look at stuff? There are some great chains of restaurants there. Then we can have a day trip somewhere. How about some well-known house somewhere? I don’t wanna do anything taxing because I know you are busy.”

 

“Well, you are pretty busy too.” Jeremy winked, “Helping supervise a MA student must be hard work. _More_ so than mine, you are helping build someone’s future.” Jeremy did have some pride and admiration when he thought about how Waylon was doing that. Before, he would have given no fucks for Literature but seeing Waylon passionate and meticulous about it, which he was like also as a programmer making him realise programming can be valid, he was realising that field had a lot of importance too. “By the way, how is that Dalloway, kinda strange isn’t it, I heard that name before in a book, like by Virginia Wolfe or something right? My sister told me.”  Jeremy had told Waylon about his actual family (not surprisingly Waylon had been sympathetic about Garrett Blaire) and they seemingly knew he was married. His mother didn’t approve of it at all. Not that she was homophobic, though that was initially there for social ramifications, she was more annoyed that he didn’t marry a man of their standards. The fact that he married just some guy with amnesia and figuring out his life to her was “good for soaps not for the family.” Ironically, his dad chuckled, thinking first it was a joke at first that he married another man. Then when he realised it, he laughed again, joked about how he knew he also like them dicks, and they both had a hearty life, talked about, inappropriately to some but appropriately to them about both men’s penis sizes (Waylon was around an inch or bigger a bit annoyingly Jeremy confessed) and had wanted to meet up with them. Victoria Galvin, his sister, and her husband wanted to meet with them too. But, Jeremy excused them that he needed to get out and go away to the UK so they didn’t get the chance to. He didn’t want his parents to know. Though, it was more know about Waylon or know what a fuck he was being for the conglomerate and Murkoff. And, his mom was warming up to Waylon, feeling compassion when he once bitched about the other man’s outbursts saying she actually understood his frustrations and that it seems he just doesn’t know what to trust as his life is a bit of a blank. Jeremy was thankful to God that his mother did explain to be more soothing and approach more gently.

 

He also had gotten an email from Garret. It was happy if not solemn. “ _Dear Bro, heard you got hitched, Victoria showed me the pic, handsome dude, too handsome for you, and his eyes they are kind, don’t shatter them. You know I am being serious. Keep him safe and happy. Love, Garrett_.”

 

He didn’t really reply back. He knew that Garrett expected that he won’t reply back either. The fuck. Despite, there so many differences he always got mad that Garrett could still read him and many a times read him with a clarity that made him fume (though Victoria found it amusing like she expected that they are going to be like that). Though, seeing Waylon’s kind eyes; he just wondered. Should he say something back to him? Part, of him wondered what his family would say if they ever found out that his marriage to Waylon was a bit of a sham. His mother would be sad but I think his father, despite being a dickhead, would be extremely angry with him and disappointed. Not that this wasn’t the first time that Jeremy lost house privileges — wild college parties, almost getting his girlfriend pregnant at sixteen, slapping his girlfriend at sixteen (she was another one and from a prominent family), getting two DUIs in a row (for getting caught), punching his father once over a business deal argument, not inviting his father at a Murkoff party and that one time he was almost gonna hit his mom and broke her over five grand decoration centrepiece for calling him a “loser.” Oh, yeah, he was grounded when he beat up Garrett and Garrett beat him up over the fist fight on Garrett going into bioscience and learning to be an entomologist. His father was a bit smug about it – saying disinheriting him too soon would be a problem; hoping, Garrett failed and had to come crawling back. Though, he didn’t, made his dad really mad. In some ways, Jeremy envied that he made it.

 

“You okay?” Waylon caressed his face.

 

“Yeah, just thinking about family. I haven’t seen them in a long while you know.” Jeremy almost had to blink back tears; though, he wasn’t really sure why. Yeah, he missed them a lot; but did he miss them so much that he was gonna cry about them? Maybe, after all compared to this farce, even with the ugly, they were real. Honesty and Truth; in perfect companionship, sportsmanship, friendship, comradery, wedlock, union — whatever names you could give it. Truth and honest of it? He also missed Waylon hating him. The fear of him; not sadistic joy. Just, the fact he knew that he fucked up and the fact that those were real too. Ugly things were more real than plastic after all. We package things with plastic but everyone wants what’s behind it.

 

Waylon continued caressing his face: “Do you think we should spend our vacation time with them?” _No_ , “I would love to take pictures with them it’ll be fun…and,” suddenly tears fell from his eyes and he started crying, sobbing loud —

 

And for once, Jeremy didn’t stop him — Jeremy didn’t acknowledge it to contradict it. Those tears were real.

 

They both held each other and cried.

 

The first most honest conversation they had in a long time.

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Are you doing okay?”

 

“I am sorry, I guess this is much more _threatening_ than I thought it was.”

 

‘That can happen.” She smiled happily at him, “Don’t feel obligated to be polite or anything. You can ask any questions or rude ones, not just overtly rude,” she winked and he had to smile at that, “You can just tell me what you were feeling.”

 

“I feel like….” He had tears in his eyes, she looked earnestly, he wiped them, though they nestled anew, “I am just _relieved_ you know. Though I feel regret, I feel I needed this as well. For whatever was left for my sanity.”

 

“That environment was toxic. I am happy you left when you did. What you described to me was completely…wrong…” She looked and sighed as he smiled weakly, “You needed a big vacation away from it all. You say Miles and Wallie always at it every   day, right?”

 

“Yeah. It is like domestic abuse all written over what they do.” Tom looked aghast, “I mean they pretty much get at each other like an abusive couple.”

 

“Well, domestic abuse is not the only thing.” She looked at him, “That involves them. They were making an environment that made you feel helpless and unhappy. No matter what you did you felt they ignored you and just wanted to slug at each other, take a bit of one another’s weaknesses and all the problems that they were having.” She was angry now, “It was like they were indirectly and even directly abusing you without paying close attention to their actions. I am disappointed in Miles. I know he is going through a lot but he and Wallie should not have been well so cutthroat of each other. They have still each other, right? And, there is a chance that Waylon is out there and he would really need them as a team, a unit, then just going at each other like tomorrow never dies or something.”

 

“Miss Wayra —“

 

“You should definitely call me Yesfir.” She smiled at him tenderly and a bit cockily, “That is my name.”

 

“Yesfir…” Tom tongued the name underneath the buds of his mouth and throat, the certain Middle Eastern flare was new to him, but he was not exoticizing it when he thought it sounded mellifluous and was nice to say, “Yesfir. Yesfir…” when she looked at him questioningly he just smiled, “Your name sounds so positively nice.” Then he grinned, “I know this is gonna sound totally like some sort of Western asshole but what is the meaning of your name?”

 

“Well, which one?” She smiled confidently, “The first name or the last name.” Then mischievously, “You know I have a middle name too.”

 

“Really?” Tom stated it slowly, wondering was Yesfir being serious.

 

“Yes, it is Nova. Now, that is not a Middle Eastern name. I would say Latin. So, of the Western Roman principle.”

 

“Can I call you both?” Tom said a bit timidly.

 

“Usually, I make it a point to make people call me my first name,” she saw Tom almost had a crestfallen face, “But, with you I don’t mind if you call me Nova. Just not Miss Wayra, okay?” she winked.

 

“No, I do wanna call you Yesfir,” Tom smiled and explained, “It’s just…” scratches his head and almost blushes, “I like the name Nova too.”

 

“Aww thanks.” She gave him a light hug, which got him taken aback. He wasn’t expecting a beautiful and pleasant woman, in his eyes also “normal” and creative, to actually give him a hug. It felt nice. Familial. It felt nice. It also reminded him of Tim.

 

“hey you look sad, are you okay?” Yesfir asked.

 

“Oh yes, I am just thinking about Tim.”

 

“Do you wanna talk about him?”

 

“I miss him. Though, I really needed this too.” Tom confessed, “Doing things by myself and getting to know the world by myself. I just feel kind of strange.” Tom seemed to be struggling to get the last part out, “I just feel…”

 

“Don’t force yourself.” Yesfir held his shoulder, “If you need time I am here.”

 

“I think, that’s the thing. I really wanna share this with someone.”

 

“Then, do.” Yesfir softly smiled, “I am here.”

 

“I am a bit jealous that Tim got to stay with Eddie. He gets to read books. Talk with a therapist, take walks in places with Eddie.” The Tom suddenly looked mad, “And, I had to stay with Miles Upshur and the Walrider. They pretty much the year crappy as fuck for me!”

 

Without knowing Tom thumped on the table in front of it making Yesfir jump a bit. “Hey,” she pressed his right shoulder calmly, “Don’t get mad,” she shivered a bit, this pain, this anger, it was justified, it hurt her to know that Miles was someway responsible for this, _Classic Miles_ , she thought, _Always being active in hiding and being passive-aggressive in the most strangest of ways, like not being able to tell his feelings and then acting so sorry later on but not pulling up the slack, if he acts like this with these guys, especially from what I know about Waylon Park, this is gonna be really_ , “Look, Miles has a habit messing up like this. That is why things didn’t work out between us. Even sometimes as friends. He just acts like a real idiot at times —“

 

“It wasn’t fair Yesfir!” His voice was booming loud now, Yesfir thought of his pain first, her mind also thought about neighbours, “I don’t know him as well as you do. This was supposed to be an introduction in some ways for me and he perfectly fucked it up!”

 

“Calm down!” Yesfir grabbed his shoulder and wrists a bit firmly, “I know you are angry, I am not trying to make excuses for Miles I am just saying —“

 

That was Tom banged the table a couple of more times and he pushed with force the vase on the table, it had some daisies in them, all the water and flowers were strewn on the floor with the fragments of the translucent glass vase, contoured by large immaculate cuttings of threads and stitches. The table was for dining and it seemed made of sturdy wood but Yesfir could see some dents; the anger had made Tom a bit stronger, concerning his large frame and already hefty physique. “I…” Tom now had tears in his eyes, “Maybe, this was a mistake. I need to go!”

 

She grabbed on to his wrist and Tom was surprised that she was strong too, “You are not going anywhere.” She said it commanding a cool presence, not cold, then she smiled, “We are gonna pick up the glass fragments together and we are gonna talk. Then I wanna bake some muffins with some tea or coffee and I need your opinions on a few of my poems.” Holding him closer seeing his captivated face, she continued, “We are going through work through this. But before we bake, I am gonna give you some old, bad cutlery I have, that I fudged up making stuff and you are gonna hold them and slowly break them on the floor.”

 

“I don’t understand—“

 

“Yes, we are gonna break them but first you are going to help me clean this up.” Yesfir still held on and Tom was getting somewhat nervous, the gaze, the strong smile and that powerful gaze and the hand, emitted a power he hadn’t completely felt before.

 

Tom then just could nod.

 

Yesfir brought  two dusters and one tray and they started sweeping, “Uh.” Tom could only utter.

 

“Do it as I am.” Yesfir spoke, “Softly, without hurry. Just feel the weight of the pieces in the duster — don’t try to touch them as you will yourself — the time to touch them is not within our permissible reach. Just do this. Now tell me, about jealousy.”

 

“I just wish things would have gone better like Eddie and Tim are having.” Tom slowly swept, ashamed, he confessed, “It’s not fair. I mean. I also wanted a break. It’s like if I didn’t separate from him I would have gotten those lull afternoons, fresh mornings and starry, quiet evenings. Not all the drama and the shouting and the taunting of each other. It’s not fair I get the short end of the stick.”

 

Tom tried to hurry the cleaning, but Yesfir stopped him and told him to go slow, which in Tom’s eyes was too slow, but he couldn’t complain, not after breaking the thing, “So, it’s that you wanted. Quiet evenings with Eddie?”

 

“Not really.” Tom talked after a while, “I mean I wanted to go to Miles. I had a small, innocuous crush on him and I just wanted to go with him too —“

 

“Would you have been happy to just let Tim go and face all of that while you stayed with Eddie?”  Yesfir was so sweet and quiet when she asked that. It almost got chills on Tom’s spine.

 

“No, of course not!” Tom went on the defensive, “ I truly mean this!” he seemed pretty genuine, “What I faced was really bad and I wouldn’t want Tim to face that. It was getting so unbearable. I mean they fought almost every day. It was just too much.”

 

“What does Tim do all day? Just walking and talking to Eddie? Does he talk to anyone else?” Yesfir asked.

 

“Well, he talks to a therapist, named Starling something, I forgot. In the clinics, he goes too he talks to some of the patients, he and Eddie, not too much though. They can’t ‘cause you know of everything.” Tom was getting bored of picking up the pieces so slowly, every time his pace increased, and there were smaller shards and large shards (the vase had been sizeable), Yesfir stopped him with a quick grab at his wrist, he wanted to get angry at her gesture too and looked annoyed, but he wasn’t saying anything yet as he went back to snail place, “Tim showed signs he was frustrated he couldn’t talk to them. He was frustrated that our lives are so well, you know, hid and grotesque that he couldn’t properly talk to people about things. Once, he did talk to some people about a poetry book they were reading and that was that. It felt a bit too impersonal to him. People seemed to just give judgments and just stagger off and sometimes they didn’t seem to willingly give any reason for liking something. They just liked it and Tim felt somewhat confused by all of that.”

 

“And, you wanna be in that place?” Yesfir smiled.

 

“No, that sounded sucky and — please, stop grabbing my wrist, Yesfir!” Tom almost pushed her hand aside, “I am really sorry for my tone and this vase but we can clean it up quicker if we just you know move our hands faster.”

 

“But, Tim’s days seem pretty slow.” Suddenly, she spoke this and Tom just looked at her, “You know lull afternoons and all those mornings and evenings. It seems slow paced and he doesn’t have much to do and the only person he talks with completely is Eddie, who you mentioned before, also gets his arguments with him, bad mouths Miles and Wallie. So, this is the way that he spends his day. Slowly. Is this what you want? _Really_?”

 

Tom blinked and looked at her, “I suppose that makes sense.” He looked at the glasses, “His day are like fragments. They don’t always please him either.”

 

“I am not comparing your pain to his but he also had a hard time. That’s all I wanna say. I feel, Eddie, is also a handful whether Tim wants to admit it or not.”  Yesfir smiles softly, now both she and Tom cleaning up quickly, “Perhaps, seeing you are in trouble pre-empts him to say all that he wants. It is kind of hard you know, especially, when you shared you are in so much trouble. Perhaps, he is in a lot of trouble as well, or, if not that, he feels alone; but, as you have said you are in such a situation, he doesn’t share anything with you. It can happen. All I can tell you is that his life is mundane at times. Eddie may things difficult for him too. Just like you have been trying your level best to try to talk to Miles and Wallie he may have been trying his best to talk to Eddie. The impasse is the same there I think. Eddie doesn’t want to agree it may not have been Miles and Wallie’s fault. Or, even if he had, he just doesn’t want to meet them and you are facing the same thing. Besides, don’t underestimate the lethalness of boredom.” Then carefully she added, “Look, it is true your situation is ostensibly more toxic and it is a degree or more higher. I am just saying it’s not all rainbows and unicorns for him as well. Also, think, he has been meeting people but he cannot have a great enough bond with them and that is also something pretty sad. He feels maybe he shouldn’t proceed without you, or, given the history and the present, he too feels it’s threatening to just go about and be with people.”

 

Tom was quiet for a while. Then he sighed, rubbed his face, from his palm’s fixture he could feel his nose partly protruded and see the half-sight of Yesfir, “I am a stupid guy. I am ashamed.”

 

“Don’t be. What you thought was very human. It was understandable.” Yesfir just fixed up by taking the tray and duster from it, after giving a small shake as if to get rid of small debris of glass into the tray, she returned most of the stuff in a nearby closet.

 

“Do you really think he would stop making friends because I wasn’t there?” Tom looked at a grandfather clock in the living room, it read close to 7pm, he was beginning to feel a bit hungry but he didn’t want to say anything.

 

“I don’t see why not. I mean, both of you worked so well as a team, solving problems for the other three. I feel that your guys separating, though you wanted and needed, was also a hard adjustment in itself that you wanted to push aside and frankly those other three are not taking into consideration.” Yesfir seemed to glance at the time too, “I feel, you two miss each other, both through your blessings and your problems.”

 

“It’s not only that.” Tom looked at her, earnestly, “I think I miss living in the lodge in the woods with all of them. Just that peaceful interlude before that Murkoff agent came crashing down and bringing down the hell rain on us. It was very nice Yesfir. It was like a small paradise we were living in, like some small cottage in those picturesque books, it was just a good time we were having conversations. Miles and Waylon were also working a bit too then. Talking and trying to figure out what their odds were, what they were up against. Now, with Waylon, _gone_ ,” said the last word carefully, treading on it like tight-rope, “I mean, it feels like some variable in our peace equation just went down the drain. I am quite frustrated by all of that.”

 

“Then don’t worry.” Yesfir touched his right hand, reassuringly, “You can probably build a new peace equation and revisit the old one. Just more tighter variables okay?”

 

Tom nodded, “Okay.” He smiled. Deep inside, he felt this off peace and he was extremely happy that Yesfir helped sort him out. All this time, he was craving for some conversation without fear something would blow up. Then he realised he did blow up a bit, was he like Wallie and Miles then? Not being able to face their emotions head on, they were just using violence against each other? Afraid, of their own shortcomings and the realities that presented themselves to them?

 

“No.” Yesfir suddenly stated, “I am not angry because of the vase.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“You phased out.”

 

“I am sorry about the vase. I didn’t mean to thump on the table too. You’d think after seeing Miles and Wallie go at it I would act differently.” Tom snorted a bit after the last statement. Obviously, he sounded displeased with himself.

 

“You didn’t really act like them.” Yesfir softly spoke, “I know you had a lot of pent up anger and sadness. Just don’t make this a routine, okay.” She chuckled, “I don’t wanna clean up vases with you.”

 

Tom laughed, “Okay, Okay.”

 

“Now,” she went to the kitchen, “Before we eat — I know you were hungry and you looked at the clock, don’t worry so am I — I just need you to do something.” She came back, happily, with plates, different shapes and sizes, in her hands. “I chipped most of these or they are kinda messed up or become like junk.” She handed them to Tom, “Now,” she smiled, “I want you to throw them, on the ground, not too fast, don’t want any bruises, do you?”

 

“What?” Tom looked a bit startled.  


“I told you, we were gonna break plates remember?” Yesfir just smiled as she took some of the plates away from Tom and left him carrying a few and then put some others stacked on the table, “So, now, we are gonna do that, or more specifically, I wanna see you do it.”

 

Tom for a moment felt like a small kick in a gut. She wasn’t just trying to treat him as a carnivalesque attraction, right? Scientists used to also make them do shit for kicks. Though, no, Yesfir didn’t seem like those fucks. After breathing hard, a bit, Tom started breaking the plates and he saw satisfaction in his action and with throwing the pieces so many places and then he broke around five and then six and seven, yet after the 18th or 19th one Tom felt kinda tired (she had around 30 plates varying in size) like something was drained from him and he just wanted to do something else. That, there might be a chance to do something else.

 

“That hurts right, see, anger can only help a bit.” Yesfir slowly walked away from the pieces, she had instructed Tom to be careful and so he had smashed them away from her, didn’t want any glass flying at her or him, and she got the dusters and tray again, and gave him a duster. They both started sweeping, “You see Miles and Wallie, now that you left, will also realise how this anger between them will actually lead nowhere. You felt it yourself, anger to a limited sense, is okay, then after you let too much of the violence take control, it becomes draining and dissatisfactory. You realise, and curse yourself, why did you let the anger let you in too much in the first place.”

 

“You really know how to make point with cutlery. I can see the poet in you already.” Tom meant it, he felt somewhat admiring her already for the lesson she wanted to impart. She didn’t seem condescending or belittling. She just wanted to show him the validity and the liminality of his feelings by both actions and words. The familial feeling was setting in again. He felt a closeness to her that reminded him of Tim even though the intensity with Tim was more matured and of course more bonded and close, built by years of blood and experience. But, it felt nice to have someone care enough to actually help him out.

 

They had a dinner of pizza and garlic bread. Spicy BBQ chicken pizza and the garlic bread had some cheese cut on the side of the bread.

 

“Do you have to bake afterwards?” Tom asked as he ate.

 

“Only if you want.” Yesfir looked at him happily.

 

“If you don’t mind. Can you read me a poem of yours now?” Tom requested, “I know we are eating but…I just wanted the ambience.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Yesfir had one of her notebooks nearby so she opened it with one hand and scrolled through some of the pages. Her hand rested on one. Tom could see the crispy page of the book, it looked new, and smelled of newness and Yesfir’s enamel on the paper gave a noise of warmth and a tender crust of paper that was music to his ears. Then Yesfir started one:

 

“ _I do not know if I am an automaton_  
rest assured I know the human in you  
liven you with armouries, fatten you with verbs and the architypes of adjectives  
I fed you — you needed to be fed like a bird-child requires some form of regurgitation  
so initially you were petty and selfish  
and I wanted you to know there were a limit to that  
and when you did crash and burn in the tower of your own ivory flame  
I tried to help you with the small embers of me  
though I think I shunned you too  
it was then later you started feeding me, chasing me to bring me swords and shields to battle  
you were learning how to speak and helping me as well construct my own dialogues in the fray…”

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey there, how was therapy?”

 

“Yeah, it was good Eddie, how you been doing?”

 

“Getting better. Though I need to still walk with crutches. It is a pain I can’t run at the moment.”

 

“Where would you run to?”

 

“That…That is a good question…”

 

Eddie started to laugh, not howl, but genuinely laugh. Tim had to smile, “You sure seem happy. After you get better, we need to meet up with my brother and Miles, and Wallie.”

 

“Don’t mention them right now.” Eddie suddenly lost his good mood, “That journalist and his pet can go such a tall one for all I care.”

 

“Eddie.” Tim started and before Eddie could say something else he shot out first, “This.” He raised his finger, purposefully, “This just has to stop. We all didn’t do shit —“

 

“But he had a fucking Walrider!” Eddie screamed out. It was good they were given a private enough room, which they shared less, Julian had arranged for it after Eddie and Tim did disturb some of their guests, “Look, Wallie is the Walrider and Miles is his host. They are the strongest people we had and they couldn’t stop those Murkoff bastards from taking Waylon! I haven’t seen Waylon in a year and I —“ he was cut off by Tim and by a sob grabbing his throat.

 

“And. For the last time. I am gonna say it. That Murkoff guy had a Walrider too. That guy, he seemed to know his shit. As you said. Miles is a journalist. He ain’t a homicidal maniac like you or me. He is a decent fuck. Do you expect him to just start doing kung fu fighting fast as lightning? Don’t delude yourself.” Tim looked dead serious.

 

Eddie noticed a difference, “Usually, you shout with me. Either therapy went well or something is up. What’s the matter Tim?”

 

“My bro left the house they were staying in. Like you, always bitching about Wallie and Miles, they pretty much also are at each other. Do you know how lonely my brother is feeling right now? Also, how lonely Miles and Wallie must be feeling right now? At least, we have each other.” Tim sounded stern and had a firm determination in his voice.

 

Eddie shot off pretty fast, as though he was preparing to run a marathon, “Is your brother crazy we have to get him! And what about Miles and Wallie?! Isn’t he thinking about them at all?!”

 

“Would you stop shouting.” Tim looked on pretty calmly, “Tom is with a friend of Miles who they got acquainted with. And, Miles and Wallie should have some time to themselves. They wer making my brother lose it. They deserve this timeout.”

 

Eddie clutched his side a bit, it hurt that he moved too fast, then he looked at Tim, “I don’t think he should have done that. What about Miles and Wallie?”

 

“What about them?” Tim snorted, “You are caring about them now. Bitching about them for the last year didn’t help.”

 

Eddie was looking at the ground, “There is something you should know.” Eddie was closing his eyes now, “Before we got attacked, Wallie was acting weird remember…?”

 

“Yeah.” Tim just looked on, his stern expression gone, now a solemn one.

 

“You see, I got scared, I also somewhat forget, then when I remembered, I kinda kept it to myself. I was scared.” Eddie looked at him, “ I didn’t want to think about it. Since, Waylon got kidnapped by another Walrider —“

 

“Yeah, just spill it!” Tim looked on, worried.

 

“Wallie saw something in the woods. It was a slender man looking thing. It wasn’t a Walrider. It had no face. It wore a suit and had this red cape. Then he heard a sound of a wolf. Like a werewolf or a large wolf of the preternatural kind. And, yeah…” Eddie now looked at the shocked face of Tim DuPont, “That is what happened.”

 

Tim rushed up and firmly, not strongly, grabbed Eddie, who was shirtless and wearing his boxers. Anyone, you knew them before would be surprised that the groom was not dressed and one of The Twins was wearing a loose tee and some jeans with sneakers, “You are telling me this, _now_.”

 

“Now, seemed like the best time.” Eddie slowly took away Tim’s hands, “I didn’t wanna think about it Tim. It scared me. What are we dealing with? What those things are and I don’t think only Murkoff is involved. There are some things that are very strange. And, I don’t even know if Waylon is _alive_ or _how_ he is alive.”

 

Tim suddenly slapped Eddie.

 

Eddie clutched his cheek. But, then he looked down, “I guess I kinda deserved that.”

 

“You disappoint me.” Tim almost spat it out, “You should have told me this before.”

 

“And, give you another thing to worry about?” Before Tim could say anything, “And, give us both something more to worry about. We are already in a lot of shit. I just couldn’t take the extra crap okay. Not without Wallie, Waylon and Miles by our side. It was too much for me, God knows it was too much for me, okay, so sue me.”

 

Tim sat down beside him, “At least, you are showing some care about them.” Then decidedly, “We are gonna call them and tell them. Actually, you are going to,” at this point Eddie looked at Tim, but Tim looked eagle-eyed at him back, “You are gonna tell them and we need as much information as possible.”

 

Eddie smiled, just a bit, “You are right. I need to make up for all the problems I am causing.”

 

“Nah,” Tim slowly slapped his shoulder, “I know you are scared but we need to be prepared and vigilant. Can’t have those Murkoff bastards come at us with us being unprepared again.”

 

* * *

 

 

Waylon wasn’t the snoopy type. At least not in his own home.

 

It was just there were these photocopies out on the coffee table. Usually, he didn’t pay much attention to Jeremy’s work. Amongst the stat reports and other legal paraphernalia, he saw the snippet of what seemed to be a diary entry:

 

“ _Saw that delicious Waylon again, he was all jeans and ass, felt like shoving the dick into him on both ends. Hell, I wouldn’t mind taking some. I was wondering what he was doing. I wanted to ask him only this dumbass security guard came up and started chatting him up. Yeah, I think that douche also has a thing for him. Then they went to the cafeteria, it was like poor Waylon was hungry. I would have loved to feed him my seamen if he was really that hungry. Now, he was eating a tuna sandwich while the bastard he was eating pizza, cheap ass looking pizza. I did not know how Waylon would subsist with that. The sandwich was small but maybe he would eat later. Dammit, thinking of him eating, got me hard. Feeling when he will say, ‘oh Andrew I want your dick right in me!’ Or, ‘I want my dick in your ass Andrew and I will make you moan and I am sure to deliver heaps of cum as long as you are satisfied!’ I was really itching for it. So, I went and fapped up for like 20 minutes in the bathrooms near the labs. Dammit, one of these days_ …”

 

The graphic nature of the write-up bothered him but what bothered him more was that the name “Andrew” in this particular context sounded…familiar…then it came! The pounding headache! Flashes of him in this scenario! Eating the sandwich, wasn’t it tuna and something else, and with this friendly security guard, who almost seemed shyly flirting with him, and feeling a gaze and looking around to see this “Andrew” guy just smile and walk away. Making his skin crawl and shiver…it was just too strange!

 

He started hyperventilating.

 

Started shuddering.

 

“Waylon!”

 

It was if he was losing consciousness and then felt someone grab him, it was his husband Jeremy, “Hey Waylon, what’s wrong?”

 

“Jeremy, what is this?” Waylon trembled as he handed him the stuff. Jeremy’s eyes grew wide for a moment, “Uh, that, that is something someone once send in as a joke in the office…” Jeremy laughed a bit nervously, “You know how it is, sometimes those guys…you get it…”

 

“Why does it have my name on it?”

 

Jeremy looked at Waylon’s face, that pleading, loving look of a man who trusted him, and for a moment he had to look away, “That isn’t you.” Then he looked back, “That is some intern with the same name and some jerk in the office trying to paw after him. I guess they thought because you have the same name it would be funny to just send it to me. Bad joke. I will get those guys later.” Then lovingly, “You know what, I wanna take you to bed.”

 

Waylon walked with Jeremy who took them to their bed and helped him settle down. Jeremy said he should probably have his medicine. For his panic attacks and he did and then he was just looking at the ceiling. A moment he felt he thought a tongue near his head when he was half awake but then he shook his own head. Why did the name sound familiar? At that moment, another thing “Lanes” came into mind and he was wondering what was happening. Though he blinked, once and twice, oddly thought he saw some funny shapes…Rorschach…? He rubbed his eyes.

 

Soon the white noise of the fan and the meds helped him fall asleep.

 

He felt in a moment also Jeremy’s voice, holding him, the smell of his cologne, “Don’t worry babe, I am here for you. I am sorry of that. It was careless of me. I am here with you.”

 

* * *

  
 

 “Miles,” Wallie asked, “What are you doing?”

 

There were notes and pages, notepad pages and pages from journals, the wastebasket was full but Miles kept on scribbling. Hands shaking. The words seemed eligible. Wallie, who could read now, more or less, felt that they made no sense, “Nothing.” Miles almost barked, banging a pen which seemed to have gotten empty, then threw it, and brought out another. A normal ballpoint. Wallie liked the smell of ballpoint. Scorched ink.

 

“Is that supposed to be an ‘a’?” Wallie then grabbed him at the same time Miles grabbed him too, “Miles!” Then Miles also pushed him, “C’mon Miles,” Wallie was no longer clung to him but they both grabbed each other again, at the same time, “Miles, please tell me,” Wallie looked at Miles’s calm and gentle face, though his hands were still shaking, “What are you doing?”

 

“Wallie,” and Wallie thought for a moment, Miles was going to hit him but he didn’t, he just caressed his face, “I am sorry for being a cocky cunt to you all this time. Look, at what we did. We drove Tom away. And, we haven’t gone to search for him yet.”

 

“Tom seems to always have some kind of plan.” Wallie held his hand and caressed his face too, “Don’t worry maybe, maybe, he needed just some time to himself. We can forget about that now. I just wanna ask, what are you doing?”

 

Miles suddenly punched his shaking hand making Wallie almost jump, though he held on, “This Wallie!” Miles was shaking, trembling voice and all, “I need to overcome my fear of this paper and writing. Bullshit can’t even write properly anymore!”

 

“Maybe, you need some help too. You can’t do everything by yourself. I know I can’t.” Wallie confessed, tenderly caressing Miles’s face and hair, “You keep on looking at the phone. Do you wanna call someone?”

 

“Yeah. My Dad.”

 

“Any, particular reason?”

 

“Because I think my Dad’s work on cat psychology and physiological parameter was actually used by Murkoff somewhere along the line and therein can lie some answers.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that is that. I will try to update soon. Though, I am having some health issues so I may take a bit longer. Please comment! I really wanna know how you guys are thinking of the Part 2 of Shadow Engines! MUCH LOVE TO EVERYONE!


	4. Recoveries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> getting some stuff together in this one. This is gonna be a short chapter. Like really short and it just wants to pan things into perspective

 

**Recoveries**

 

 

Wallie looked at the outside. It was dark out. He could feel smells from after the rain that happen — small, yet potent enough — and the smell didn’t exhaust him. It was becoming a familiar he rather liked that being cooped up into the apartment too long. In a span of eight hours — nonstop and all — Miles had been writing things. Perfected letters and jotting down phrases. He was not doing anything beside that. Truth was he was worried about him even slightly. Though, something told him he needed to do this. The more Miles wrote there seemed to be static surges on both their bodies. So, frankly, it was hard to just stand with arms folded. Sometimes Wallie paced but he wondered if that really helped as much. Though, there was some progress. Some real progress. Wallie could touch the paper a few times. He still felt paper cut; oddly enough. And when he felt it Miles got the cuts too and used to partly glare at him first — which, he kindly returned — then it was somewhat indistinguishable who got the cuts first as Miles had been writing so profusely. Wallie noticed that paper felt a bit ‘pulpy’ to him at times. He got ‘nostalgic’ smells of hills and woodlands and all of that. He wondered if Miles felt the same touching the pages. Though, he didn’t seem to ask that at the moment. Miles’s eyes look almost dark and it seemed cloudy midnight blue than the coolness of the ripe shade that reminded him of sweet blueberries and the feeling of serenity and richness he got from them.

 

“You haven’t called your Dad yet.”

 

“What?” Miles replied pretty weakly. Almost detested. Though it seemed an emotion borne and born from the wrecked veins of fatigue than Wallie. Wallie did not take it personally later on, though his initially impulse was to glare and bare almost fangs at him. He saw Miles look more than the word tired. But he could feel some surge of coherency in Miles in doing this. There was some steadying of the hands when he wrote now — though he had been dropping the pen ample amounts of times. He wasn’t sure if he burned through the ballpoint pink too. The ink was overwhelming now even though it was dried and it was in most papers. The night and ink should smell divine and it did to Wallie but it also hurt his senses when the ink overlapped too much. A crinkle of the nose showed that it also bothered Miles. Though, he wasn’t really saying much about it.

 

“You said about your Dad?”

 

Miles looked a bit in thought, “I…” he got up and almost fell down. Wallie rushed towards him deeply concerned.

 

“Your feet?!” Wallie almost cried out and there was a static like shrill. It had Miles’s hair rise on end. He realised that it was the like the first time he went to the asylum and heard that weird noise and wondered what it was when he entered the room and the lights went out. A flood of images came forth and he felt of remembering running through the halls and Walker chasing him. He shivered and rocked a bit…His eyes were filled with tears…the stress of it was too much…he wanted to vomit…he did vomit…the room was spinning… “Miles, you are exhausted.” Wallie said this slowly, “And, your feet look swollen. Let me help out your clothes. You just need to rest and eat. You shouldn’t push yourself like this okay. You are gonna hurt both of us. You more than me in many ways.” Wallie had to admit, he felt surges of Miles’s nausea and the overwhelming fatigue and it almost made him feel like he had lead limbs or something. It actually felt hard to hold Miles at times because of it. He was feeling this guy’s disorientation and lethargy. The lack of food intake wasn’t helping shit either.

 

“I can’t eat…” Miles almost slurred at his speech, “I feel too bad…”

 

“Look, I will get you some food from the fridge okay. Even if it’s stale…You don’t look like you can go out…you are probably look like some diseased man and alert too many people…” Wallie was slowly peeling off Miles’s clothes, he did a small rip here and there but he was focusing hard enough not to shatter clothes. In both their minds Tom came about. Sure, he had a slight unconventional face and creeped some people off, especially women but also even strong guys, but he always used to get them food. He was that sincere. Even when it hurt him he would get them food. The fact they were fighting. The fact they always glare and snarled at each other made him unhappy but he still tried to make a semblance of a life. Even when Miles and Wallie were wasting time by fighting and not doing as much research on Murkoff and sister companies to even figure out the possibility of Waylon’s life.

 

Miles was now completely naked. Wallie was next to him holding him. In one vantage view they would look like lovers. Wallie saw that Miles’s exhaustion made him emit black wavy lines of static that seemed almost that he channelled the Walrider’s uninhibited raw energy. Miles’s eyes also became a feral looking blue with distortions of static. Wallie looked at this change to his host and friend, and partner and attachment and thought if he looked less menacing when Miles looked more. Could be. Miles was quiet and his eyes dimmed, flickered in and out, like he was partly there and partly asleep. Wallie could feel the exhaustion in Miles’s body and the muscles tense and the back stiff with pain. He wanted to let go of Miles to get the food but he was worried of letting him go. Almost had the weird inkling he would dissolve like static and be like him — particles in the air — was that even possible?

 

“I miss Tom.” Miles almost sounded like he was sobbing, “We had someone good taking care of us. Look at us. We did so much bullshit that he left.”

 

“I think he will come back.” Wallie sure hoped it and also felt the hope was real, “I mean we all need each other.”

 

“Do we?” Miles almost grabbed Wallie a bit hard, “If you weren’t around I would have probably started a life somewhere as well.”

 

Wallie looked mad for a moment, then he just stopped, “I guess you are right I —“

 

“Don’t say it first.” Miles suddenly said it with a spring of energy, “I am sorry, okay. Blaming you for everything. It isn’t your fault. None of it. Not even Waylon being taken away. It was no one’s fault. He just was abducted and we weren’t strong then. But, we haven’t really been working on our bond. We haven’t done anything much except well glaring at each other. I guess I am just afraid Wallie…” The tears just came and he didn’t know what to do, sobbing and holding on to the dark-grey phantom, who also held him back, he just held his friend and spirit like companion, he didn’t know what else to do, the exhaustion made all his feelings he always tried to hide with rage come out. He was just tired of running, “What if he is not alive? You know how that feels like? I am falling for him, Wallie. Waylon Park is someone I am falling in love with. Like literally I can feel my heart call out to him. There are times, I think I feel him in the static buzz we both share. I don’t know if it is real or nostalgia, like an old FM show on the radio again. All I know I wanna feel him again. All I know is I wanna hold him again and maybe then I can easily say that I love him. That I cared for him so. That he is becoming my love. I just wanna hold him and tell him all these things…what if I can’t…oh Wallie what if I can’t…?”

 

“I think you are also severely underestimating that Waylon didn’t feel those same things…” Wallie almost smiled, though, he also had started crying when he felt the immense pain in Miles, the pain of longing, the pain of feeling lost and confused, “I think he felt the same things. I shivered when I felt the vibes around you. It was so raw, electric, caring, empathetic and also just strongly bonded. I don’t think Waylon was ignorant to how you felt at all you know. I think he was also falling in deep for you. The love he felt for you was also real. It will always be real. Know that.”

 

“Why do I feel like you have inherited the better parts of my brain?” Miles chuckled.

 

“I don’t think there is any real, better and worse. It just happens. I mean you are falling for him, probably fully in love with him. You miss him. I miss him too.” Wallie just looked at Miles and Miles looked back at those dark-grey pools that were basically his eyes. They look like miniature abysses with a reverse mirror on a spotlight: meaning an abyss that was liminal and had a parallel cut on it. An abyss which had a cut on it. Who would have thought of that?

 

The bed was comfortable but smelled a bit of sweat and unwashed sheets. Miles had neglected to clean as much though he did clean up with Tom. The air was not stale though; they had half a window opened and it helped. Miles looked like he was going to cry again. Then he did, slowly, with a low wail, caught in his throat and ribs like fish bone that was still trying to swim upstream, “What if…what if he is dead…? You know. What can I do then?”

 

“You can honour his family and him by bringing back his body.” Wallie just stated, “Loving someone is doing that much.”

 

“You are right.” Miles smiled and caressed Wallie’s face that he almost cringed thinking Miles would slap him (they did that a few times before), “Thanks Wallie. I know. Deep inside I always knew that I wouldn’t, couldn’t, survive this without you.”

 

“What makes you think I could?” Wallie grabbed his hand and kissed his cheek, “I know very well that even without fights, which were bad, we both were equally angry at each other for wrong things. We hurt Tom. That wasn’t good. We need to apologise to him. However, we didn’t go damage up an asylum like Billy. I know if I was with Billy I may have done something worse. I just know it. Billy was never well adjusted as you. Given his age and all that he gone through. I would feel like a monster. I don’t wanna feel like that. Especially,” Wallie almost looked away, his throat felt dry in the sense he was scared like a human, “I saw what that other Walrider could be like. When I am simply used a weapon. I can get pretty fucked up and like pretty well, sadistic. Like his own host. That guy seriously looked like he had issues too.”

 

“That thin young man is highly trained in combat.” Miles looked at Wallie though he also looked lost in thought, “I don’t think I could have fought like him even if I wanted at that time.”

 

“I think we need to give ourselves a bit more credit considering the odds that were stacked up against us.” Wallie stated plainly, “I don’t think Waylon got hurt as much but if we made one small wrong move…”

 

“Yeah, I don’t know what would happened to all of us.” Miles suddenly looked really determined, “I can’t let that happen again Wallie. We can’t. We need to be prepared. We need to get Waylon back. In whatever way, he is. He needs us. He deserves the best of us. We can’t go dicking around and being cunts like this. We need to gather strength and be who we are. Not this wreck.”

 

“But, we do need to acknowledge we are hurt and we are feeling overwhelmed.” Wallie smiles, “We can’t ignore our positionality and our emotions.”

 

“Yeah, we can’t do that.” Miles looked at the window, “Do you think that Tom is out there thinking of us?”

 

“Probably is…” Wallie looked happy, “But also glad to get away from our toxicity and the fact we were being bitches all of the time. For like one whole year.” Then thinking, “I think we needed that time to see how Eddie is doing too. I heard he is recovering better. Even from his old wounds. That’s good you know. We all need to get together soon. I think there are still a lot of things we don’t know about. Things that could be more dangerous. Like the faceless guy slender man, I saw.”

 

“What — what, do you mean Wallie?” Miles looked horrified.

 

“Miles, that time in the forest I heard a weird wolf howl. And I saw this weird creature that had no face and was wearing a red cape and looked pretty weird. I didn’t say anything ‘cause I was scared and he looked as preternatural, more so than me. And, I think there are many other entities involved or at least Murkoff researched and even have on their payroll and this disturbs me.” Wallie explained slowly.

 

“You should have mentioned this before Wallie.” Miles looked sad, but before Wallie could say something, “But I understand we were too mad at each other and were not really talking to each other so I forgive ya and you know it’s not really your fault.” Then he chuckled and Wallie gave a questioning look, “You know, this is the first real conversation we had in a year where we aren’t tearing each other like wild, feral beasts and just being with each other like we usually did. It makes me feel happy.”

 

“Yeah me too.” Wallie said affectionately. Then he just kissed Miles. Miles felt the preternatural tongue go on and he wasn’t arguing. He allowed Wallie’s tongue to bathe him with its grey liquid like sensations, like water and air mating on some level. The feel of sharp like teeth objects almost meshing against his own. His neck arched a bit allowed Wallie to probe in a bit deeper and feel the same probe of Miles’s tongue following course. Like a pulse waiting to be read and devoured. Twisting and earthen along like electricity and empathy and then it stopped. “Sorry,” Wallie whispered, “Felt I had to do that.” He said it casually and rubbed his head.

 

“That’s okay.” Miles smirked, “I felt lonely too.” The searing kiss reminded him of Waylon’s mouth — sobs refrained — he felt the beauty of Waylon’s kisses, his smile and his body, all his brains and personality and identity pulling him to the epitome of his core. Enveloped by the beauty of Waylon Kwang-sun Park was one of the best feelings and matter of his life. He would never let it go.

 

There were moments of silence that reach out between them. They just held each other and felt happy doing so. Miles didn’t know what else to say at the moment and Wallie also seemed pretty much on the same tone. They breathed in and out and felt a serenity, a peace, an understanding in that sense of breathing in sync. Like after such a long time they were on the same page. Reading in beautiful body languages of each other — both creatures of flesh and ether just hyphenated and coded by some different algorithm of molecules. It felt nice just to be. No Shouting. No rage. A perennial peace and calm in them now arose and flowered, simmered like a pretty flame that caught the embers of fireflies in the forest. A memory caught in the wings — that mesmerising kiss Waylon and he had in the fireflies around in the lake. That felt to come and even waft on to Wallie. The cool breeze outside felt the same and was almost telling them that it won’t forget what love was shared.

 

“What it’s like having a father? Or, parents for that sake?”

 

Miles looked at Wallie who suddenly asked this question. “I don’t know Wallie. I guess it is always an individual experience. Some parents are really good and take care of you. Others are mean and can abuse you or even abandon you. It always is a case by case history. But, when they are good, you feel loved, supported and well you know encouraged to live and grow. People say parents are a gift of God. I guess they are when they are good. We start out helpless and meek and we can’t walk, speak or do anything. Parents teach us things. Things we can adhere or even reject as we get more conscious and older.”

 

“It’s funny…” Wallie looked at Miles, his expression slightly sad, “I didn’t necessary start out helpless in the same way but I feel I was. I killed people and did things like Billy asked me too. I now am conscious enough to try different things and be a different sort of individual. But, I don’t think Billy was like a parent. I wonder if he was like my sibling even though he is my host. Also, I didn’t start out small, well maybe I did like an amorphous Rorschach blot in Billy’s mind and all of that, in his IV tubes and all of that, but then I felt I was just a small, unable to do anything. Like some weird inkish yolk. My life cycle feels similar to humans though not same even to the kingdom of flora and fauna. Though, I guess Billy was my truant or delinquent sibling or friend. I don’t think he was like my parent though.”

 

“I guess Wernicke was like your dad…” Miles thought about it, “Though he is a strange father as that.” Then he chuckled, “Father Martin would totally say you were like Wernicke’s prodigal son or something if he ever imagined it like this.”

  
“But that idiot wouldn’t.” Wallie looked annoyed, “He would think of me as just this device for him to reach salvation. He probably wouldn’t even answer questions that I wanted to ask and would venerate and deify me by excluding my need to grow and move about. He would selfishly try to keep confines what he believes and how he envisions me. That ass.”

 

“True.” Miles nodded, “He did think I was his Job and what not and didn’t care about my suffering. I think he once even deflected it saying that I shouldn’t do the sin of feeling sorry for myself as each man must be crucified and needs another to nail the other. Yeah, that sounds kinda wrong but you get it. Truth is I know we shouldn’t be vain enough as that dude said of wallowing in self-pity but then again, he asked for all the carnage it seemed. I didn’t. I mean, I didn’t even know what I was getting into Wallie. It was like he was just bypassing my feelings even genuine ones. I don’t know about you but he is one poor priest.”  

 

“Oh yeah.” Wallie chuckled, “He sucked. Even the twins later on realised that he was a bit of an oddball.”

 

“I kinda wondered…” Miles looked contemplative, “Was Martin always like that? Like, he was masquerading as a father before from what I have seen. But, like, was he ever a member of a cult or something? I was thinking about that. Like he just believed you were a saviour and taking him somewhere. Wonder why he felt like that.”

 

“I don’t know much about Father Martin. Billy and he weren’t always that close. I mean they talked but I think Billy liked Wernicke better after a while and that irked Martin. You know jealousy issues and all.” Wallie explained, “Though initially and even later on Martin did like Billy. I guess he liked this boy who went to church and cared about his mom.” Then suddenly there was a shiver and a static on Wallie, “I…his mom…his mom sold him…” another shiver…more static.

 

“Wallie, are you alright?” Miles looked worried for a while.

 

“Yeah, sorry.” Wallie looked at his own clawed hands for a moment, “I don’t know what happened, for a moment I saw some strange images. Maybe, a relapse to Billy’s own mind.”

 

“What was this you are saying?” Miles’s interest looked piqued, “Billy’s Mom sold him? I thought he joined the program to help his Mom’s health?”

 

“Yeah, but there is a high chance that she sold him for loads of money.” Wallie looked sad, his hands shivered for a bit, then stopped and he held Miles, “It’s like Murkoff wanted a clean body. A body without problems and no mental health issues. Not severe ones anyway. Billy came from poverty and his mother was selfish. She sold him. I think he got to find out that later on.” Though even when he said it Wallie felt a weird buzz behind his own consciousness. When he was one with Billy, he never mentioned to him any anger towards his mother. There was only love and joy, serenity and humanity. Why was it now, when he looked at her image, it was filled with deep misery and malevolence? Also, his mother looked a bit older than Billy last saw her. Wallie decided to discuss this with Miles after he had rested because he didn’t want to give too much ambiguous revelations in one day. There were so much to chew through and he didn’t understand why Billy’s thoughts sometimes came in and out of his head. Like, not a reflection of old thoughts. But, something almost _new_. Was, was Billy still alive? Was that even possible? Then why did he switch hosts? It seemed somewhat strange. Too strange that it actually creeped him out.

 

“That sounds pretty terrible,” Miles’s voice, soft and soothing, made him look at his host and friend again, “It seems that kid can’t get a break, can he? Everything in his life was so messed up and people added fuel and gasoline to it all the time. Even his own Mom.” Then with a sad smile, “Well, that’s what I meant by parents. Some are bad. While others are great.”

 

“So, what about your dad?” Wallie asked, then he realised it, “Sorry, maybe that wasn’t a good question to ask.”

 

“No, my Dad was great.” Miles smiled, “It’s just he and I get into arguments at times. He is always worried about me. Because I chose this line of work and all of that. And, I think he always wanted me to be a scientist like him. Though, I guess he got around to the fact I wasn’t gonna do it. But, like any father he worries. When I was around twelve or thirteen years old my Mom passed away. It was a great loss for all of us. Also, he didn’t wanna marry again soon. I don’t think he ever really married again because he missed her so much. He didn’t date many people after her passing away. He dated this woman for a while who was his colleague but she didn’t really like me and always seemed to wanna move in, marry him and start a family with him. He noticed her behaviour and pretty much told her to fuck off because well he loved me a lot and he wasn’t gonna be forced to do anything. I think my Dad has been on and off with this man for some time…yeah, my Dad and Mom were open minded and queer like me. But, he hasn’t really settled down with someone else. I miss him at times. But, we haven’t talked in a long while.” Miles looked really sad, “I hope he hasn’t called or messaged and think I am ignoring him.”

 

“Well, you will talk to him soon.” Wallie caressed his face, “I am sure he will understand.” Then after a moment of reflection, “Do you wanna live with him for a while?”

 

“What?!” Miles looked alarmed, “Wallie, I can’t put my Dad in danger. What the fuck man!” He grabbed his hand that was caressing him, “Don’t be silly.”

 

“But didn’t you mention he lives far away now and in an isolated kinda place. Like a ranch or something. Or, like in a small hill of farms.” Wallie reasoned, “Besides, you said he did research that might have benefitted Murkoff and even the Walrider projects. Don’t you think we should stay and find out as much as possible?”

 

“Yeah, but, Wallie…” Miles looked so afraid, “I already put Waylon in trouble. And, then my dad —“

 

“Stop blaming yourself for Waylon okay. Also, I think your dad may be somewhat involved and he would have to either act dumb or well, you know run and hide.” Wallie looked a bit angry, “Murkoff may not have gone through their recent notes. If they do it might be a bad thing. Hopefully, they won’t tie in with your Dad much and you might be able to meet him after you call.”

 

“True,” Miles nodded.

 

“Well,” Wallie sighed after a while, “I guess I don’t need Wernicke as a dad. I got you, Waylon, Eddie and The Twins. I suppose you guys are my family. In one way or the other.”

 

Miles had to smile, “Of course, we are family.”

 

And he held Wallie close. There was suddenly smells of rain, distant thunder, and then a pour. The hum of the rain and their breaths was nice. Wallie went up for a while and decided to feed Miles. Miles couldn’t eat…so Wallie actually tried eating the food himself…it actually felt in Miles. He didn’t question it. But realised that sometimes they could even share some stomach intakes too. Miles didn’t wanna think about the cows but with food in his belly he felt warm and good. Soon, as they embraced, with the hum of the rain they fell asleep.

 

 

* * *

 

Waylon didn’t know why he wanted to do it. But he did. He wasn’t so proud of himself but he didn’t know why there was this nagging feeling of him feeling that Jeremy hid things from him. He just didn’t wanna always believe it. Though sometimes his own gut screamed at him to push at Jeremy. That was the confusing bit. He didn’t know why he had this feeling. Jeremy had been so loving and supportive of him after the crash so he didn’t understand why his instincts and even his heart and mind told him to punch that guy. Even during making love there were moments where he was paralysed with feelings of guilt and even disgust. This was strange. He never understood why he felt this. Why he couldn’t just be okay with making love with his husband. Things were completely feeling messed up.

 

So much so that Waylon learned the combination to Jeremy’s briefcase (by clandestinely observing him) and just opened it. There were just some normal statistics stuff. Then there were some more entries…in the same fonts and handwritings…what was going on?

 

Waylon remembered the licking tongue…vast hallways…running…his head hurt a lot for a while…then he drank some water…and he just…just walked back and forth…Jeremy was obviously hiding something from him…but why? And, what could it be? Also, why did he feel at night, he could see static near his eyes. _Miles_. This word used to sometimes come up between him while Jeremy slept with him. He didn’t understand what it could mean. Miles of what? He was curious, he didn’t understand what it all meant. And, it sometimes used to scare him. Was, was Miles a thing, a destination, a place, a _person_?

 

And, what made him…and he felt enveloped by a sense of love when he thought of this static Miles. Made him happy. Like very happy. Bliss like no other. He didn’t feel this good and happy when he was with Jeremy. Something was up. And, he didn’t wanna ignore it anymore. It was like he was ignoring it for a year or even more. Trying to push it off. But this was not helping at all. Something had to be done.

 

And fast…

 

Sometimes, he felt he felt someone else talk…like an inky creature or something…saw a face of a dark brunette man…calling out to him…in anger…talking about him…Something scary told him, though he accepted it, that it was really real. Like super real.

 

He had to find out the truth.  

 

Even if it many turning his back on Jeremy…

 

Though, something told him Jeremy had already turned his back on him so many times.

 

This was it.

 

Going to the truth.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, could be Waylon is coming back to pace =) And Miles and Wallie are bonding again. Now that Outlast 2 is coming out on April 25th super psyched to play it! Will this story include some stuff of that game? Yes? I mean c'mon that lady with a scythe, who was named Marta by Red Barrels, I love her design and aesthetic so much! I can't wait to see what that game has in store I am like super psyched! Also, I don't know what you guys are thinking of this story. I would like some comments. I know it was a big spin away from the first Shadow Engines. So, I am not sure what you guys are thinking. Anyways, will try to update soon =) it's just as the new Outlast is coming out and maybe stories may merge so I need to pace in like that a bit. Love you all have a great week =)


	5. The Cat is Out of the Bag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a small chapter that I wrote to basically show a shift in the story. I thought about it. This hopefully will spearhead things forward.

 

 

**The Cat is Out of the Bag**

 

 

 

When Sigourney Starling didn’t show up for two appointments, it would be an understatement to say that Tom got worried. Something, in the back of his mind, stated clearly, highlighted with yellow, that something was definitely wrong. Calling didn’t seem right. Yet. Also, he had to keep an anonymity. It was him and Eddie. Not just him. Also, his brother and Miles could get into danger if he did anything that could be told to be stupid.

 

Then, one day, before evening, in the midst of twilight and night, Sigourney did come. She was in the shadows. He could not discern her at first, despite having great vision in the dark. It was that soft tug, which he had studied to be her waist, alerted some possibility that this could be her.

 

“Tom?”

 

It was the voice that told him that it was her. The sweet, aesthetic wave he had known was hers. Soft, understanding, gentle and compassionate.

 

“Sigourney, Thank God.” He whispered. Something told him Sigourney wished it to be so — quiet. It is not that the guard didn’t notice her. But, she was too much of a regular, or, at least one of the known people to be questioned.

 

Though, Tom was no idiot either.

 

There was always a chance she could even be his enemy.

 

So, he preferred putting some question.

 

As far as he understood, it didn’t matter that he was taller than her and he was muscle heavy, he had to stay alert.

 

“Tom…I…I am sorry…I missed your sessions. I know they are very important to you.” Sigourney looked like she was trembling — something was definitely wrong. “I…I…” then she was sobbing a bit, he wasn’t understanding why, did something happen? A very bad incident? “Tom…you have to tell me…” she shuddered, almost took a step back when he approached her but he could see battle ready, as if reading on his caution she too exercised it. “Tom, Tom…” she repeated his name, she was fucking nervous, “Tom, what happened to you at Mount Massive? What really happened? Was there something, haunting you…?” The word choice piqued his interest, “Something…something that wasn’t human?”

 

Fucking Time.

 

“What happened?” Tom gently and cautiously held her shoulders, “Sigourney, what is going on?”

 

“Tom, there is this weird ink like…ink like thing that is going around the halls…” Sigourney struggle to speak for a while, “Of the retirement home that…that I counsel in…and, its…its killed some people…ripped some to pieces…others it strangled…” She now grabbed his hands, “Tom, something not human have been killing some of the people there. Tell me what you know.”

 

“All I know it can’t be our Wallie as I know him…” Tom held on, “But…it seems a Walrider is in that place of yours.”

 

* * *

 

 

Jeremy didn’t suspect Waylon.

 

Not at all.

 

Waylon seemed to be in good spirits. They had gotten around visiting the UK. As a couple. It was kinda like a honeymoon and Jeremy never thought he would have one of those.

 

A honeymoon with Waylon Kwang-Sun Park.

 

Wasn’t that interesting?

 

Though Waylon was still interested a lot in his work at the university.

 

When Jeremy came back he decided to meet Darian. Their meeting didn’t go back. He noticed that Darian’s hair was growing. But, he had cut it. Which was strange because Darian loved his neck length hair. Though, the cut didn’t make him look odd. It still made him look sexy as anything. Darian also removed his red streaks and looked pretty well typical. Jeremy didn’t ask him anything about that initially. When he did, Darian was quiet on it a bit stating that he didn’t want to discuss the particulars about it.

 

Then he said some things that got Jeremy suspicious.

 

What he didn’t know is that Waylon had been breaking into his office and finding Andrew Lanes’ journal entries and such. Photocopies of them, now and then, which Jeremy had sometimes broke home from work. Waylon has been getting odd dreams now. Even when he started to panic he didn’t always take the medication that Jeremy gave him. At night, he saw the Miles name in static, again and again.

 

He could hear some thoughts.

 

Some thoughts here and there that didn’t feel like his.

 

But someone else’s.

 

Like literally sometimes he felt this person, maybe Miles, talking —

 

— And, he felt this man. Like he knew him intimately.

 

That is when it happened.

 

That is when he realised something.

 

One day at the office, he almost dropped his coffee.

 

Though, he wasn’t certain.

 

He was going to try it.

 

He had to.

 

“Yo Peter!” He called out to the sort of homophobe colleague of his and just stated, “You know that your wife thinks I am hot right.” He said this quietly. Almost like a threat.

 

“What the fuck Blaire?” The lecturer hoarsely spoke back, “I don’t this is funny. You can’t talk about my wife. What the hell, just go and do your husband.”

 

“You wish, right?” Waylon did not know where he was going with this, but he risked it, he risked everything. Without a moment to spare, he kissed that guy. He kissed his colleague. The other man looked at him with bulging eyes and shocked face for a moment he couldn’t even register what was going on.

 

Then he looked mad and pushed Waylon off.

 

“Blaire?!” he questioned and was almost screaming, “What the hell…” Before he knew what was happening pushed him and that got Peter so mad he lunged at Waylon.

 

Only…to be stopped deftly…

 

By Victor Dalloway.

 

Who just grabbed his arm and hissed, “C’mon Peter, let’s be civil now.”

 

“What the…I…” Peter look so surprised. For a few minutes, no one did or say anything. “Fuck it, you can go fuck off Blaire.”

 

“Are you okay my dear professor Blaire…” That was the smile that he knew too well.

 

Waylon just nodded and smiled meekly. “You are right, he is kinda a homophobe.”

 

Victor nodded and just started walking away telling Waylon he was gonna wait for him in his office.

 

Waylon was shaking.

 

Waylon had to hold the walls not from falling down.

 

Because he realised it.

 

He needed someone to talk to. But who?  


Everything has to be a lie!

 

Everything!

 

Because Waylon realised who Victor Dalloway is.

 

Though the memory was not fully back he just realised who that man was.

 

It was that nightmare. That leptosomatic nightmare.

 

Victor Dalloway was Darian.

 

* * *

 

“Professor…I think my life is a lie.”

 

“And?”

 

“And I need your help to escape my so-called husband, Jeremy Blaire. I think that’s his real name. Though, what happened is not real at all. Not all of it. I was attacked back in the States. I was running away from people who wanted to kill me. I…had a wife but we got divorced in the middle of me running. I have I think two children. My wife didn’t die nor did I lose my kid. I don’t think my name is Waylon Clarke. Also, Victor, Victor is involved in this too. I don’t know if that is his real name or not. But Professor Tuftbrooke, Gordon, I need to go back to the United States.”

 

Gordon was an eccentric man so he didn’t seem to think Waylon was on the deep end. He looked at him and realised he could be telling the truth.

 

“Do you have flashes of your previous life?”

 

“Yes, I do. But…they don’t stay long. Sometimes, if I think hard enough I dream up stuff.”

 

Gordon looked at him, “Waylon, don’t be hasty. Keep on doing what you are doing. Something tells me if you think hard your answer may come from dreams. Keep on dreaming out your real life. Then run. Run. I will tell the university something or the other. But, if you say that Blaire has lied to you. And that Victor is involved then this all feels really elaborate and dangerous. I don’t know if I really wanna know everything. But you do need to get back to the US. I will give you transport when the time comes.”

 

“I think there is someone I deeply love, beginning to have deeper feelings for — I wanna be reunited with that person.” Waylon admitted, trembling, then smiling, genuinely.

 

“Really? Someone who is real? From your old life? Who?”

 

“His name is Miles Upshur.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's that for now. Can't wait for Outlast 2 coming out next week :D OMG YASSSS Maybe that will help in the continuation of this story. Yup, yup.


	6. To Know More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, we get to know some things in this chapter. Waylon is becoming more alert and Murkoff is upping the pressure on some things

 

**To Know More**

 

There were things that Waylon didn’t necessarily understand. His memory was still incomplete. All he knew is that he knew a man named Miles. And, the last name was also a blur. Yet, he can somehow hear his thoughts at times. Were they _present_ thoughts? Or, _past_ thoughts? Or, a mixture of both? That he wasn’t sure about. All, he knew is that he could sometimes tune into Miles’s thoughts. And, also the thoughts of something inky, greyish-black with white tints. Wonder, what that was…or _who_ was that? The thoughts of _him_ (Waylon presumed it was a _him_ , the being felt like a him) were also pretty familiar. It wasn’t something but a someone. At first, Waylon thought he was seeing a blurry image of someone. Though, it wasn’t a naked masculine guy, who was well bodied and ripped with washboard abs. No, it was a being who resembled a fine physique of the male anatomy. That was not an understatement. Whoever this being was actually attractive and he seemed fused and also independent of Miles.

 

Waylon did not only have that to look into. He was reading the diary entries of one Andrew Lanes. They were mostly about him and they were pretty sexualised pieces. He didn’t always like them. To see himself so sexualised and objectified, and not in any way erogenous with his consent, he was sure even a masochistic person would not like it. There was a difference between kink and stalking. Waylon didn’t always like reading these entries, but they were keys to his past, though distorted through Andrew’s twisted desires.

 

> “ _Today Waylon did some coding for Jeremy Blaire’s office. He is perhaps a part-time employee but that ass while he works is pretty important. And it sways importantly when he works. Blaire was almost non-noteworthy about Waylon though I could see boss man staring at Waylon’s ass a few times. And, I thought this brass knuckle was straight. Then again, we all though Richard Trager was straight. Knocking up Waylon’s boss Michelle before he took over her workspace. Now, Michelle was a fine broad. However, I love that Waylon Kwang-Sun Park. That name in itself generates an orgasm for me. Waylon Kwang-Sun Park. Think about it. It works lightly on my tongue like some ‘safe word’ or a word that induces another whipping. It just makes me feel so happy knowing he would be around. Of course, some tight asses down at the labs and Morphogenic engine rooms don’t like him. Why would they? Waylon knows some parts of their work that they are unaware of. It pains them to know who they consider a ‘lowly grunt’ to be intelligent. And, seeing an intelligent man like himself in bounds and chains if something I live for. It would be presumptuous for me to think he would really enjoy it. I know he won’t initially. It would be wondrous to touch his innocent ass all the pleasures of the flesh that can happen. To think of him gagged and sweaty; a bit out of breath after a good spanking. Not necessarily a spanking, but a good cumload of my sperm in him. And, orgasming more than once. After my own and after his own buttocks gets used to the delicacy and thinking of it in him. Orgasming again at those thoughts makes me cum myself when I bating in the showers. I think one of the guards heard me when I almost swore out with Waylon’s name. Though, as there are so many people who like and love Waylon Park I am sure not everyone would be happy to report me. There are no strict rules, well there are, but not everyone follows them around here. Everyone is probably fucking everyone. It’s like a damn prison in here. No women. Which is stupid seeing that not all women were affected by the Morphogenic engine and there could have been tests done to see which women could or would be a possible false pregnancy or which could be a possible Variant. I think even that bitch Roland suggested it. Damn, she was a bitch. Always knowing more. I liked her though. I like bitchy women and bitchy men like Waylon Park. Anyways, Roland talked about it. She was a good autopsying doctor too and we could have used her around. Too bad they let the female staff go. Bunch of cunts. Loved to see her gagged and chained along with Waylon Park in some fuck sandwich. Though, Waylon is who I want the most. I want to spank him so hard on tight, round and toned ass. Make him forget his wife’s name and be my little sex puppy for life. Oh, I think I have pre-cum working my way up while writing this._ ”

 

> “ _There isn’t anything Waylon I can say is ordinary. Waylon likes drinking coffee as in either pure black or a foamed latte. I once saw him with hot chocolate on one cold, rainy night and I felt like snuggling next to him, feeding him the chocolate drink after each spanking almost like brat training. Waylon is sometimes a brat though. I think that cute bitch avoids me. That cute fucker smiles around me but it is a polite smile. Like, cute motherfucker, I know you are trying to avoid me. It’s not going to work. Today, I saw Waylon have lunch with that security guard again. Like most agents, he is bald. I wonder if that is a criterion for the fucking agents. Well, not all of them are. I think it is some sort of club trick. And, whatta know, Waylon pointed to the other dude’s head and that guy explained that ‘yes’ it was a sort of a sign of affiliation between the guards and that they just did it sometimes. It wasn’t mandatory. It was also apparently a form of superstition. The guards were all being chatty against this dude among them who had to be strapped onto the asylum wing. Well, we are technically an asylum. Mount Massive has its perks after all. It’s asylum licence got us all those fuck-ups along the state. Not saying Billy Hope is a fuck-up. I think the fuck-ups are pretty interesting though. I actually was present in an interview with a guy the other day, Gluskin. Sawed off a woman’s face after her death because she didn’t look the way he wanted her to look. Had dyed her hair blonde as well. Either that dude is a boring stickler for blonde bitches or he has no taste. I mean seriously a titty-fuck with a blonde double D’s bitch is one thing but he should have more class than that. I sometimes slap him when no one’s looking. Gets him ‘provoked’ but like seeing that Gluskin fucker down with the chems gives me a thrill that I sometimes have to bate off. Anyways, that security cunt told Waylon that one of their guards were ‘attacked’ or something in their sleep. Starting mumbling things and had to be taken down on the male wards. Of course, that dude had some hair. And, it was speculated that some monster enters through nodes in your hair and then WHAM it gets in your dreams and starts making you all fruity. This didn’t seem to faze Waylon much but he did seem bothered about the security guard, that sweet fuck. Though, yeah the guard flirted with him again. He actually touched Waylon’s hand at one point! Waylon just pretended it didn’t happen. That was pretty suave of him. Cute of him as well. Though I felt like punching the security guard. I mean seriously get your hands off my Waylon Park! However, the incident he talked about was pretty much a big bullshit. People are getting tits-up for it. Oh well, new ‘patients’ mean new people to torment and get tormented by. Murkoff may call this an incident, I call it boon. Can’t wait to see if I can persuade Waylon to have coffee with me soon! You may hide bitch but I am gonna own ya! YA!_ ”

 

Waylon had to stop a few times while reading those entries. It made him cringe. Whoever this Andrew Lanes was felt like clearly a stalker. What made him relieved was; that this stalker was perverse enough to write about him. If not much on details he would like to know. It still made sense what the details he was saying. So, he worked in asylum called Mount Massive.

 

His name was Waylon Kwang-Sun Park.

 

Jeremy Blaire had been his employer. He remembers once writing his boss’ boss. So, that was who Blaire was. Yet, he still didn’t know the particulars about why he was here and why his former boss had pretended to marry him. It just felt a bit weird.

 

It also hurt because all this time Waylon had some feelings for Jeremy listening to his lies. Furthermore, Jeremy was acting so well. It was like either he tolerated Waylon or treated him as really a spouse. It was confusing. Why would Blaire be nice to him? From what he was recollecting from vague flashbacks, that Blaire did not seem to have been very nice to him. At one point, he coughed out his dinner once and Jeremy had been there trying to give him a Heimlich manoeuvre on him but Waylon almost scrambled out of his chair, half falling down and alarming Jeremy who said he just wanted to help him.

 

So, he picked up a coughing Waylon and indeed he did help.

 

It was just Waylon had an odd feeling that Jeremy was trying to choke him.

 

It felt so familiar that he couldn’t dissuade himself to think otherwise. He now remembers a cool, metallic feeling, of a lead pipe. First, he felt a punch to his face — no, a backhand — and then falling down. A hit by a lead pipe. And, Jeremy on top of him saying, “Waylon Park…couldn’t keep your mouth shut. Couldn’t just play along. Well, you are done talking now.” Choking him, he tried to struggle against Jeremy’s added weight, the clasp on his throat. Then Jeremy had heard someone and decided to leave telling him, “Do me a favour and die here, Park.” Following the opposite direction from where he just came from.

 

The room he was in, he remembered, had a short-wave radio. He had decided…decided to call for help. Help from what exactly? But he heard a weird growl before Jeremy was leaving and someone talking about getting all the little pigs. These thoughts hurt his brain and he sometimes would cry in the bathroom. It was a lot. What was happening? He remembered Lisa. His wife. He knows she escaped and that gave him relief. He also remembered that Jeremy had threatened to hurt her. Once during lovemaking session, Waylon had almost punched Jeremy when he remembered how threatening he was being to Lisa. He knew he and Lisa were no longer a couple. She was still once his wife and mother to their kids. She was also still his friend. He was trying not to let Jeremy know he was no longer so into him. It was hard at times. There were actual slip-ups in which he once called Jeremy a whore and Jeremy looked shocked. Other times he did seem to accept it and just nod absentmindedly. As if he was going to take any criticism Waylon gave him. At times, when Jeremy was drunk he even seemed to sloppily kiss Waylon and say sorry numerous times.

 

Waylon wondered if he actually was sorry for his actions. For their other actions, he didn’t completely remember.

 

Then there was a mention of Gluskin.

 

He remembered someone chasing him: singing a creepy song. He searched for the song on YouTube with lyrics. And he almost fainted with the panic attack when he heard the Barber House quartet being sang out by some men. Though Gluskin had a deeper voice; there was a no mistaking that was the song. He also heard the voices saying, “Are you just another whore?” and “Filthy slut! You are like all the others!” and it got him pretty unhappy and scared. He would start shivering, then he would hear the same voice saying, “I believe in you Waylon.” Or “Waylon, just be careful.” It was confusing. Was the voice some abusive person he had known in the past? Or, had that relationship changed?

 

This is what he was talking about in Gordon Tuftbrooke’s office, “I should also say Thank You.” Waylon said, “You actually persuaded Peter not to place any complaints against me. I had to be sure.”

 

“I understand.” Gordon nodded, then with seriousness, “I had some feelings about that Dalloway student. It was like he suddenly joined the program. I had a rumour that someone in the Head of the University’s directors actually helped him. It’s not like he isn’t smart. He did need some help and all. With formatting and certain syntax but that can happen. We all need some help. It was just he seemed pretty casual about his degree. As if, it wasn’t his main criteria. I sometimes felt that about him. I thought I could have been wrong.” Then looking at Waylon intently, “Well, now I know my gut feeling wasn’t entirely wrong. I think this Victor Dalloway or Darian as you called him has been sent here to spy on you.”

 

“Is it safe, to talk about it here?” Waylon looked around, “I don’t know if your office is bugged.” He went down for a whisper.

 

“As soon as you told me that you are being manipulated I had brought my bug looking equipment and looked over the place. I don’t have bugs in my office. Though I believe my emails and phone may be monitored with the former being wiretapped. So, any communications we have, we need to get burner phones. Also, we need to go out seemingly doing work for students, and partly do so, and talk in cafes. That way we won’t get caught. This is obviously a sensitive issue, spelling out the obvious. Yet, the consequences are not. We just need to pace this out carefully.” Gordon calculated.

 

“I need to get back to the United States.” Waylon firmly interjected, “I have to leave. I can’t stay here anymore. The more I am on their turf the more I can have all those incalculable consequences happen to me.”

 

“Listen, Waylon.” Gordon patiently followed, “You can go to the States, but you need a plan. Also, you need some help. A contact. A rendezvous. If you go alone, you might get caught. And, you need to also find out where you can live and all of that.” Gordon looked at his laptop, “There has to be someone; a sort of a liaison, an academic or someone who helps people. They may be alright to give asylum even at their place —“

 

“Don’t use that word for now…” Waylon rubbed his temples and looked up, “I feel it’s become a bit triggering if not completely.”

 

“Sorry, about that.” Gordon apologised, “I will be careful for now in using that word. Until, you get your memory back.” Waylon nodded in agreement. “Yet, the matter of safety is crucial Waylon. You would need provisions in America and other channels of transport. If it is risky using your own passport —“

 

“It’s not my passport.” Waylon urged with a streak of force, “It has a fake name on it, _Blaire_ …” he almost spit it out, “Isn’t my name at all and never has been and never will be my name.” The conviction was deadly in how he spoke it. When Gordon saw it, he knew that deep inside there was an anger that Waylon was nursing against Jeremy Blaire and they had good reasons. Lying was not completely on the top of that list.

 

“Yes.” Gordon approved though interjecting, “Waylon Blaire is still the passport you got. And, it will definitely be useful if we need it.” Then adding, “Do you remember anything else? What about your wife?”

 

“Well, I divorced my wife.” Waylon says with a pang of sadness but also a sense of hope he didn’t understand, “We still love each other but we are not well romantically interested in each other as we used to be. I remember her name is Lisa Callaghan and she and I have two sons. They are in hiding. And, I left them also to keep them safe. The divorce was mutual. It was not necessarily for this thing, this Mount Massive issue, we already were drifting apart a bit. There were some things as you can understand. I don’t want her to come out of hiding. It would be too dangerous and risky for both her and our sons. I hope we get another person. Anyone you can trust and we can actually well you know, tell them to keep me around for a while.”

 

“Do you completely recollect what happened to you in Mount Massive?” Gordon asked carefully.

 

“It wasn’t good.” Waylon spoke after a while and he sobbed a bit, “It was horrible Gordon…” he wrapped his arms around himself, as though a chill just came and wouldn’t leave, “It comes to me in bits and pieces in dreams and I am not sure what it all means but it means something. I had a nightmare last night; I had to take some of the pills that Jeremy gave me. It dulled me a bit but my adrenalin was too high. I remember this big man, grossly covered in blood, with no lips chasing me. He had chains around his arms and feet and he was wearing just pants and before that I felt a choking feeling. A very bad feeling of being choked. And I saw Blaire’s face. Like he was the one choking me. It triggered another nightmare. When I woke up struggling that same man was there to hold me. And, I actually pushed him away, almost knocking him down. I was really angry; furious! I was just palpitating and feeling also nauseous and Jeremy tried to sit me down. I know he could feel it. The glare I got on his back as he got me some water and some more meds. He even looked scared at me for I think my face must have been a scowl. When I slipped into the dreams again I could feel myself running towards hallways and a staircase and someone singing. And, then I was in a room filled with broken lockers panicking and someone talking about how I am not showing my true face and that’s why the lunatics and idiots couldn’t trust me, I didn’t know what that meant, I just knew I was scared when he said that he wanted to cut me up and make me perfect. And, the singing appeared again and I got so scared. I got inside one of the lockers but then it closed and I felt I was suffocating. Then I woke up and I heard a coffee pot going off and Jeremy speaking to me telling me to stay in bed. It was the weekend. And, he actually got me breakfast in bed saying that I had a bad night and he wanted to cheer me up. This was the man who was once choking me. I had trouble eating but I ate as I needed my strength and I took some of the latte. I felt energised and my so-called husband, asked if we should go for a walk as the sun was out. I needed to feel the dread off me so I agreed to go.”

 

Gordon was listening silently and intently, “It seems so odd.” He finally stated, “It seems like he is your abuser or kidnapper and he thinks he has _broken_ you or something. How wrong he is.” Gordon smiled, “Waylon Clarke is not so easily broken, and you are truly a testament to endurance.”

 

“Thank You.” Waylon smiled, looked at his hands, “I am not Waylon Clarke as you know; nor, am I Waylon Blaire.”

 

“Do you know what your real name is?” Gordon fixed a gaze on him.

 

“Yes.” Waylon looked up, confidently, gave a smile, “I am Waylon Kwang-Sun Park.”

 

* * *

 

“So, Darian. Why the hair cut?” Jeremy had asked during the coffee date.

 

“No particular reason.” Darian looked at his head and brushed still his luscious locks, “Are you telling me I look bad with it?”

 

“When did I say that Darian?” Jeremy also touched his locks and brushed his hair, he even smelled it, “I missed your hair you know. And, I did miss you.”

 

“I thought you were living it up with _Waylon Park_.” Darian accentuated, “Oh sorry, Waylon _Blaire_.”

 

Jeremy looked at him, yeah, he did miss Darian, but not as much as he liked living with Park, that was obvious. If there was a choice right now, to live with Waylon in this situation, even if it was a charade, he really liked that the Waylon Kwang-Sun Park was his husband. He liked living with Waylon, cooking for him and all of that. It made sense to him. With Waylon, he got a life that he may not have necessarily dreamed about but had maybe wanted. Good executive position, his husband Waylon also an intellect who did well and they could possibly even have a surrogate mom and have children. It wouldn’t be bad. Might of fact, having children with Waylon seemed like a dream come true. Perhaps, he could talk about it with Waylon? It didn’t seem like a bad idea. But the dream came a bit down when he realised he may need Ironsmith’s and Murkoff’s permission to do some of the things that he needed. That is why he wished he could run away with Waylon. Though, if he did, he probably had to explain to Waylon why they were running away. Even if he did hide the truth, it would become pretty problematic along the way. Waylon seemed settled in his new life as a university lecturer and assistant professor. He may do a PhD and become a professor in the long run. After all that he went through he didn’t deserve any more bullshit. It seemed comical he would say this. After all, he was one of the people who instigated what happened to him. Now, he was willing to be admit what he had been wrong to do what he did with Waylon. However, he had been an employee of Murkoff, one of their executives, surely, it was either that or kill Waylon. He wanted the Morphogenic engine thing to come later on. The lab rats didn’t want to wait. They needed viable test subjects as many of them were going insane. Not very promising as after the mind had been broken they couldn’t do much and the scientists didn’t want to. They wanted newer people and newer subjects. Waylon was physically and mentally fit, like Billy Hope. It would be pretty stupid for them, as they saw it, to let such a wonderful opportunity pass by them. Now, he just wanted to forget that chapter of his life. He wanted to settle with Waylon as well. Darian was, and is, important to him. It was true Darian started out as someone who was going to manipulate him. They had manipulated each other for information. It was different then as it became a sort of a loose friendship. Even now, it felt like it.

 

“Don’t be like that…we talked about this…” Jeremy smiled, and though Darian didn’t let him ruffle his hair another time, he waited and then did so and Darian allowed him to do so, “Are you jealous?”

 

“Well, yeah, a bit. Though, not completely in the way you think.” Darian seemed to be pretty happy now and Jeremy was a bit suspect of that, “I mean, observing Waylon, made me realise why you like him or not. Lost memory or not, lie or not, I see he is very nice and kind person. Patient. And interesting. He was able to go from programming to teaching about Virginia Woolf. It’s not something everyone can easily do. I know Waylon is making the effort and he also has lapses in what he is doing now. Yet, that making an effort makes me happy to know he was doing it you know. It isn’t easy but he is doing it.”

 

“Nice to see you commend Waylon.” Jeremy didn’t know how to take it, he took it somewhat positively, though he felt a bit jealous about it as well, it wasn’t necessarily only Darian’s outlook on Waylon, rather he didn’t ever want Darian to meet Waylon either; who knows if Waylon took to the younger man, “What else have you been up to? Murkoff sent you off to do new things?”

 

“Yes, though those are classified information.” Darian smiled and Blaire frowned only for Darian to smile deeply, “I didn’t say I wasn’t going to not tell you anything. Besides, it’s good to get you into some things even they tell me it’s not necessary.” Jeremy had to smile, Darian was at times unpredictable, that’s was not a bad thing. Darian became a bit quiet, “We are asking Dwight Parrish and Roxie Harrell to oversee work on Miles Upshur’s apartment — you know recently it got blazed down — and your friend Pauline had been shot by her ex-partner Paul Marion. The Upshur emails are being decoded by a team by Parrish and Harrell is with a team looking for any good digs at his apartment. Miles’s place was bugged with bugs so to speak.”

 

“What do you mean?” Jeremy looked piqued with interest.

 

“There were some things that happened. Better to send you those on an email. Just make sure it isn’t read or anything other than you.” Darian put up the pieces, “Paul Marion apparently may have turned himself over to the feds. I think he needs some help to get back his daughter.  I don’t know if the feds will believe him or not, or even if they did, would be they look for his kid. We think Simon Peacock got his kid.”

 

“That Simon Peacock?!” Jeremy looked puzzled, “I thought he was dead.”

 

“Yeah, we thought so too…he has been going around. He sent these strange sorts of nanite bugs into Miles Upshur’s apartment helping to eradicate information. We don’t see the bugs when the place was destroyed but there is a good chance that we may find some for Roxie’s team. Dwight needs to see if Miles has any more information on his computer and emails. Not to mention, Peacock helped Park’s family escape so there is also that to look into. That Peacock sure is moving fast.”

 

“It seems he does get around…” Jeremy looked a bit annoyed, then with some alarm, “I thought he was dead as in some serum was used on him. It did nothing to him?”

 

“No.” Darian got quiet, “The serum had some of the Walrider properties in it. Some liquefied thing in beta stages that was supposed to help Walriders bind with hosts through also modifying the host’s cellular lymph nodes. It has fused with Peacock too well. Glick mentioned that Peacock took a swipe at her and now looks like a fucking Walrider.”

 

“Fuck my life.” Jeremy buzzed out, “That’s another mess to clean up, isn’t it?”

 

“Yeah, but that is why the corporation has people like me,” Darian smiled his wicked smile, “Me and Habrok live for these kinds of messes.”

 

“I am sure.” Jeremy chuckled, “Where is the oddball anyway?”

 

“My Walrider is roaming around. Can’t let him become too visible in a public place, now can I?” Darian drank his mocha coffee. Jeremy was liking their talking and this closeness. With Waylon, he had to be careful not to let certain things slide. With Darian, there was always a level to truth to them.  

 

“Well, when you are going off, perhaps I could see him?” Jeremy didn’t know why, he was missing that stupid and dangerous Walrider.

 

“Yeah sure, you seem more interested in him that Cindy Eisner.”

 

“What about Eisner?”

 

“Ah, still working in our research division and still having sex with me.”

 

Jeremy chuckled, “I suppose Vigalondo isn’t too happy.”

 

“Nah, he isn’t but I am the one who caught Cindy’s interest.” Darian laughed a bit, “What can I say?” He looked amused, “I am much prettier and more charming than that geek Kurt Vigalondo.”

 

“That you are.” Jeremy drank his espresso.

 

“Well, there is more interesting things going on. If you want to know.” Darian looked happily.

 

“I am all ears.” Jeremy reassured.

 

Then Darian looked more serious, “You are aware,” he got a bit of a whisper, “Of Arizona? Right?”

 

“A little bit.” Jeremy confessed, “Why?”

 

“Shit gone south there as well as in Mount Massive. The Towers, part of Zeichner Facility, collapsed, it seemed the feedback Jenny Roland talked about is also as bad as she and Ewen Cameron also hypothesised. Temple Gate, that experiment town, got burned to a crisp after people started losing their shit. Wernicke told me it is to fulfil the prophecy they thought they got from God, but it was actually Murkoff of course. We will have to send possibly Glick and others to clean up the mess. They wanted to make some last-minute alterations to the signals; it sped up the loop. See, there were these two journalists, yeah like Miles, who were snooping around. Lynn and Blake Langermann. We lost some communications, we don’t know if they are dead or alive.” Darian drank his coffee and told the story in a pretty casual manner, only to make sure no one was listening.

 

“Langermann, that name sounds familiar. Weren’t they interested to know some Murkoff things? Oh fuck, do you know how Murkoff will handle this one?” Jeremy asked.

 

“We will see to it that most of the survivors are killed or taking as the samples they were supposed. Last intel stated there is also a syphilis colony there, can you believe it?” Darian accentuated the last bit and giggled.

 

“Syphilis colony?” Jeremy asked incredulously.

 

“Yeah, their leader, Sullivan Knoth, was riddled with syphilis as he was told by his ‘god’ to have sex with anyone he wanted. And, you know unprotected sex could lead to a lot of problems. So, he made people believe they were having a ‘sickness of the soul’ thing. Murkoff helped in that. So those of them that had really bad signs of the syphilis, well, they were gotten to an encampment and told to be penitent there.” Darian looked amused.

 

“What about this Knoth guy?” Jeremy was shocked, “What about him? I mean he was the main carrier.”

 

“Oh, Murkoff pretty much told him to lie so he took medications for the syphilis. In the end, it stopped working as well his body had probably host of other infections and stuff. And, he also stopped taking the medications. I think some of the people who helped him get it were getting too suspicious about what they were for.” Darian laughed to this.

 

“Oh, Christ,” Jeremy looked a bit disgusted, he didn’t know what was worse, Variants who had pretty much diseased minds or a religious cult devoted to the antichrist, it all seemed to be both come out the same tree, oh wait, they did, the rotten apple from the rotten tree Murkoff, “Everything sounds terrible. Will you be going over to Arizona?”

 

“Yeah, if they need me.” Darian smiled, “But, I have also stuff to do here. Well, gotta probably take a few days off.”

 

“What stuff do you specifically do here?” Jeremy asked nonchalantly; it was not so much of a surprise but it was a bit unannounced.

 

“I just am here to look around you and Waylon for the while. The other developments were being taken care of by other agents, it’s good they work hard too.” Darian smiled away drinking his coffee. He was done with it and went and asked for another. Jeremy wondered how long Darian was staying. When had he really arrived? Were these questions he should ask him? That depends really.

 

When Darian came back with his hot cup of coffee, Jeremy seemed decided, “Have you been for long?”

 

“I suppose I have.” Darian decided to for a moment before answering.

 

“I see.” Jeremy now became sceptical again, “So, you just informed me _now_. But, you been around for a while? I mean I know you were helping with the medications Waylon gets but anyone else can do that too. So, what else do you have to do here?”

 

“Look, you were settling in with life with Waylon and I was told not to bother you. I didn’t want to bother you myself Jeremy.” Darian gave his opinion, it felt right to just tell him things now, things he could say, “You needed time to settle in into your new role. It needed to be done. You needed time alone.”

 

“I suppose I can take that.” Jeremy looked sceptical, “Why do I feel that you are not telling me _everything_?”  
  
“Do I need to?” Darian just pretty much looked, or appeared to look disinterested. This completely fazed over when he saw Jeremy looking irritated as anything.

 

“I thought that were no longer really playing the cat and mouse game.” Jeremy was slowly saying this and Darian felt the heat, “If you don’t know what you want, you shouldn’t have invited me today to this coffee date.”

 

“It’s not like that Jeremy.” Darian looked hurt but also attempting to placate, “It really is — trust me — for your safety. I don’t want you to think too much already than all this shit going down. When I really need to I will tell you. I mean it. I just don’t wanna worry you too much.”

 

“It’s nice to know, you care.” Jeremy caressed Darian’s face, and Darian caressed the hand that caressed his face, “Just don’t take too long.” Jeremy kissed Darian and Darian kissed him back, “I don’t wanna be in trouble again.”

 

“I know,” kissing Jeremy Darian kissed also his cheek, “I don’t want you to get into trouble either.” Then deftly he pressed his face next to him, “There is someone who wants to meet you. Talk to you.”

 

“Who?” Jeremy looked a bit alarmed.

 

“You will meet _her_. She wants to meet you soon.” Darian pushed up an address card on his hand, “In this hotel. Ask for conference room B. Don’t be late. Take it as a form of progress report.”

 

* * *

 

After Darian left, Jeremy took a cab to the destination as his own car was parked in the garage of his office nearby and he didn’t feel like driving. The taxi took him to a five or four-star hotel and after paying his fair he went inside. An attendant took him to the conference room. The room was filled with luxuriant red velvet and bronze-gold interiors, carpets with hieroglyphic mosaics and it also had certain statues to it made out of sepia rock to emulate a museum holding an Egyptian theme. There was a light red haired woman sitting in one table at the centre of the room that looked fixed for a late lunch. Jeremy looked at the women wearing a beautiful crimson dress that went well with the decorations. Yet, it was no ‘object’ placement. Her red was fiercer and shone like an aura in the dead of the night; to disturb anything even preternatural. Jeremy noticed there were no waiters or waitresses, yet, on one end there was a great buffet feast. Jeremy smelled the flavours, seemed both mix of Indian, Chinese, Thai and Continental, and remembered that he was actually hungry. The presence of the woman in the room did phase him a bit. There was a mystery to her that did not seem seductive in the way a cinema noir fil would flash in its celluloid porn. No, she wasn’t that regular femme fatale. She seduced and exuded a very strong power that Jeremy, being one on corporate power, could read. It was meshed and graphed into the wires of the place like it was manipulating charts at a stock meeting. Hidden frequencies also seemed to bend.

 

Something was amiss.

 

“Please sit.” The woman also wore scarlet lipstick, “I hope to talk to you, Mr. Jeremy Blaire. I can call you Jeremy, right?”

 

“Depends.” Jeremy sat down, politely, “Who am I speaking to?”

 

“I am Ariel Swanson.” She gave her hand for a shake, “I am sure you know that I am one of the executives of Murkoff and one of its directorial people.”

 

Yes, Jeremy knew she was a boss. He had heard that Helen and Henri Granat highly favoured her and that she was also somewhat close to Darian, despite the Granats and Darian not really getting along. “Yes, madam. I know you.”

 

“Please, call me Ariel.” She smiled.

 

“Ariel, it is.” Jeremy smiled back. Obviously, this was tricky territory.

 

“Well,” she started after a courteous pause, “How is fucking Waylon Park going?”

 

“Uh, excuse me.” Jeremy was a bit surprised by her frankness.

 

“Oh, let’s let some formalities slip.” She laughed, “I wanna be direct.” Then with a narrow stare, “Shall I repeat?” resting her hands at the table, “How is fucking Waylon Park going?”

 

“Yeah, good.” Jeremy gave a brief smile.

 

“That’s good to know.” Ariel looked at some tea in front of her. The table they were sitting in had great blends of masala teas and also other flavours that gave off a crisp smell. She was drinking some really red tea that complimented with the room and her dress and entire appearance. It almost felt planned to Jeremy. “Listen,” she said after two succulent sips of raw tea, and putting on sugar cube in it, “I am here instead of Wernicke. I am not really one of his assistants. I help Darian and the others if need be. I am like a one-woman army myself like Darian is like a SWAT team. We actually have a similarity.”

 

It is then that Jeremy noticed a black mass pouring out from the chandelier — which hadn’t been black steel — but something coiled around it. He didn’t know if this was a good sign or bad, so he decided to have his backside a bit up if he needed to run. The thing poured down and dissolved and then started reappearing but like blades or feathers or like shards. Not like smoke but like leaves. Jeremy looked as it dissipated and came back in side of Ariel and poured her more tea.

 

It was a Walrider.

 

“Meet Cygna. He is, as you can see, a feather like Walrider. He is XY9 or Cygnus Walrider.” Ariel introduced her Walrider companion and Jeremy studied him. Cygna’s appearance seemed like any Walrider. However, he was seemingly covered with feathers and his limbs took on a feathery quality as though they were wings of birds or an anthropomorphic bird creature. Cygna was pouring tea diligently. He seemed devoted to his host in the same way Habrok was, in the same way that Walrider from Mount Massive also listened to Billy.

 

“Shall I pour you tea as well?”

 

Jeremy jumped and realised that eloquent accent actually was coming from Cygna, “No.” Jeremy anxiously replied, but then, “You know what, why not?”

 

“Very well, Mr Blaire.” Cygna courteously told and poured the tea.

 

“Cygna is almost the only personal assistant I need.” Ariel smiled as Cygna poured the tea, “He talks well and does filing pretty well too. He is even to at times take calls without much static interference. He makes good tea himself, perhaps, you should come to my office sometime and try it.” Then he drank more of her tea, “Though, that has to be another time. Today, we need to talk more about business.”

 

“Business?” Jeremy asked, intrigued by both the feathery Walrider and Ariel’s conversation.

 

“Yes, aside fucking Waylon, how is he doing? We were observing you on the night that Waylon accidentally found that journal entry.” Ariel looked and sounded slightly feral. In a few moments, the Walrider took its sharp clawed hand and tightly grasped Jeremy’s free hand making Jeremy drop some of his tea on his pants and could feel the powerful grip of Cygna as he looked up and saw a feral look in the once calm face, “Don’t fuck up like that again, Jeremy. Let him go.” And, Cygna did. “You have to be careful. You know Waylon has a bio luminescence that helps either attract or ward off Walriders. That is why we were taking blood sample and giving him medication to see if that heightens or lowers that capacity. We do sometimes send Cygna to your house when you guys sleep you see if it works.” She smiles at Cygna who smiles back, “Cygna says that Waylon is hard to touch and emits his own static when Cygna touches him. The medication may helped bring out this potential a bit more but our blood test readings show that Waylon may get it stronger by himself.” Then drinking her tea, a bit more she looked at Jeremy with focus, “There is a problem though.”

 

“Problem?” Jeremy cursed at Cygna in his head and Ariel as he rubbed his hand, it had some smokey black welts on it and Jeremy knew it would take a day or two to completely fade though it was not so prominent right now.

 

“We monitor brain activity at times through Cygna and other standard methods. The meds have light tracers in them that allow us to do that for a few minutes, especially to chart REM Sleep. Waylon should probably be kept more sedated and the medication be slightly upped. It seemed either he chose to ignore his meds or you forgot to give some. It seems the more angry, calm or aggressive he is related to his actual life, even patient, his skill at this bio luminescence seems to go higher.” Ariel looked at her tea, Cygna poured her a bit more, and she looked at Jeremy, “Are you sure he is taking his meds, properly?”

 

“Yeah, I usually give them myself when he has a nightmare.” Jeremy answered.

 

“Keep an eye on him.” Ariel smiled, “And, don’t let him get too nosey or independent. Why don’t you plan more ‘activities’ with him,” she grinned, “A little more sex,  little more walks together, fun together, Perhaps, more coffee shop meets — you should do that with Waylon more than Darian — I mean the more time you spend together, the more happily he will be eager to live this little lie as your husband.” She chuckled, “Waylon Blaire would become a bit more of a reality even though a warped one.”

 

Jeremy didn’t comment on that. He had feelings for Waylon. He did notice Waylon getting nightmares more. Perhaps, he should be a bit more attentive. He nods, “Yeah, I will try to up my game.”

 

“Good.” Ariel motions to Cygna, “Start serving us lunch; what do you wanna have? Steak? _Dhosa_?”

 

“Are there any mutton chops, could eat that with mashed potatoes, perhaps some rice.” Jeremy casually says as his hunger gets to him for now.

 

“Sure.” Ariel looks hungry too, “Same for me Cygna, make it quick.”

 

Cygna nods and starts gathering plates and going to the buffet to get the food.

 

“How is Wernicke?” Jeremy asks as he has his tea.

 

“Yeah, he is convalescing.”

 

“Convalescing?”

 

“Oh, I suppose you weren’t completely informed.” Ariel finishes her tea, “Wernicke has agreed to do experimental treatment that Henri Granat suggested. We have some things to clear up at Site A, Arizona. We decided to send Harrell and Parrish over to scout out any survivors — you will get some info on that. Keep it safe.” She answers to Blaire opening his mouth to question, “Trager is a bit weaker but we decided to double on his steroids. Though, the Lucid Dreamer he wants to meet is still in the med labs undergoing tests. You know David Annapurna?”

 

“I heard of him yes.” Jeremy nods.

 

“Well, we will see what happens with them, won’t we?” Ariel starts eating her food.

 

Jeremy looks at Cygna who brought his plate and placed it and also started eating.

 

Cygna looked at them and stayed silent. Though seemingly deep in thought.

 

Jeremy ate his food and wondered what experimental treatment Wernicke was in, “So, Wernicke is —“

 

“You will get to see him soon.  Don’t worry.” Ariel answers, preoccupied with her meal.

 

Jeremy mods and eats again

 

He resolves to go home early today though he didn’t spend much time at the office. They wouldn’t mind as he usually worked hard. He just thought of getting back to Waylon. A beautiful familiarity in this life of chaos and complications.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ariel Swanson is a character mentioned by Wernicke in the the first Book who had Cygnus Walrider XY9. I know the plot went away in another direction in the first book so I decided to put them in Book 2 and with their own arc. 
> 
> I want to apologise if the story has taken a turn people did not expect or were not keen about. I know amnesia is sometimes a trope but here I thought it would make sense. It would allow Waylon and Miles some distance to do some of their own things which I thought was needed. As my story was always plot based as well with the interactions of the characters that is why I haven't made Miles and Waylon completely hook up yet. I hope this didn't frustrate readers. I just wanted them to hook up a bit later and then get along. For those who are reading, Thank You. It means a lot to me that you are still reading. This requires time and work from me and I still want to explore the story and try to make it as involved as possible. 
> 
> Marta and Blake from Outlast 2 will feature here. A teaser from before. I played Outlast 2. Gameplay is good. Storywise it is not Outlast and lacks some of the character development and plot immersion as the first games. Blake is more boring to me than Miles and Waylon. Also, that story too was involved in some cliches that I wished were not part of the story. I really want the DLC to explore The Towers in Outlast 2. Well, I am going onwards with the story and hope that people are still interested and still reading. "Saudade" and "Temple Gate" my other stories, will actually loosely tie in with this one. Well, as there are many things happening in my life now I may not update this fic soon. I also wanted to wait a bit for Outlast 2 DLC to come out so that I can proceed a bit from there. I do have my own story arcs that I know need exploring so I know Book 2 will predominantly deal with one of those arcs. And yes, David is a Lucid Dreamer. So, yup, hope you guys tune in next time! Thanks for the support!


	7. Particles of Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some deep feelings in this chapter. Hope you guys enjoy it.

 

**Particles of Revelations**

 

“I know it’s you Miles.”

“How do you know?”

“You have this tick...you sometimes breath heavy and do a ‘tsch’ sort of noise — as you are frustrated and don’t know what to say or what to do.”

“You know me so well, Dad.”

 

It was the way he said it, admitted it — that made Nathan Upshur take a double take also on his son’s voice — sounded heavy and almost defeated by fatigue. “Miles, you are in trouble, aren’t you?”

“And straight to the point as always — well, not completely straight. Hehe, my old man is as bi as I am —”

 

“This isn’t a joke Miles. What’s going on?” There was the sound of panic and even alarm in his father’s voice. A rare feeling and action. Usually, Miles saw his father stayed composed or at least tried to.

“A lot has happened.” Miles spoke, “I think you had an inkling?”

 

“To be honest,” Nathan breathed in, “I was half-hoping it wasn’t serious. I actually thought you were front and centre in the whole fiasco they were broadcasting a year ago about Murkoff and an asylum. I been trying to keep in touch with you. I couldn’t get a hold of you. Yesfir, that poet and intellectual you dated, said you were fine and keeping low. I should have known she would have lied to cover your ass.”

 

“She doesn’t know much and she wouldn’t want anything to worry you too much Dad.” Miles did not know why, but he felt that partly apologising was the best way to get about it.

 

“You don’t need to apologise…” That is when Miles heard his father sob, “I was so worried about you...I knew something was wrong...But I was scared of inquiring too much. Unless, I did something wrong…”

 

“I know Dad.” Miles wanted to hold his father. “I just couldn't risk anyone knowing where I was and I still need to mail you things. Even this burner phone I got from a shady neighbour around here isn’t going to help a lot.”

 

“So, it finally happened…” His father had a tone between disappointment and expectation; the contradictory forces were jarring to say the least, “You are on the run.”

 

“Yeah, Dad, not the time…” Miles wasn’t ready for any advice-building, any conversation on career choices, or even talking with ‘proper’ authorities, this thing was big and he was surprised that he was able to keep it for half hiatus for a year, or, that would mean that either Murkoff was seeing what their next move was or planning things ahead, or both. They had, as Tim stated, lost a lot of time between squabbling and healing. They needed answers fast and they needed to get a move on.

 

“No, I am not lecturing,” Nathan explained, “I am just, grappling with the reality of it as well.”

 

“Oh.” All Miles could say was that.

 

“Yeah.”

 

It seemed like there was a breach in their communication — and there were — of miscommunications and paths expected spurned and some ties becoming weaker with years of scarce conversations and meetings. Their talk now seemed to be a filler. Yet, there was a bond there too. Not easily broken. And, Miles felt happy feeling it. It was nice to know he could still have it. That there was a something he could grasp in all of this. “I am glad you are here, Dad.” Miles admitted it, “I really need you now, Dad. Things need to be resolved. If I wanna live and if I can get others to live.”

 

There was a quickened breath, “Where are you? — where can I get you? C’mon, I won’t be sloppy…”

 

Miles whispered, “Tomorrow night…I am gonna call you…Come and get me…I am not in Colorado anymore…”

 

Though, he still was.

 

This has to happen as fast as possible. The shady neighbour would keep the letter. If Tim came back then there was a chance that he could use the number to call. And, preparations would be made for him. His body was weak and he needed better food and well rest alongside his research. It may sound a bit childish but he did need his parent. He needed to convalesce and work and some of the answers his father already had. Some of them were related to Murkoff though classified his father would probably explain to them. It was actually Volsung Pharmaceuticals before it's more deeper connections with Murkoff. People didn’t approach Nathan Upshur because they didn’t want to make a connection. Miles realised it because it was a fluke but something came to him in a dream, a memory — God somewhere popped it in like an old VCR tape — it was the broken men in the asylum. He once saw — he once thought he saw….yes, Paws. And, that was the thread that could help a bit.

 

That was the cat he was sure had some effects similar to the Morphogenic Engine.

 

And, from what Miles remembered — he was the cat that was once was very enamoured and happy with him. They had a bond. He didn’t wish to actively think on it and perhaps even forgot. When the Walrider and he bonded and later on had been talking he had once or twice had this, not related to static but his own imperceptible feeling of familiarity. Then he realised he was attaching or juxtaposing the situation with Paws. Though, Paws was not completely like Wallie. Paws had been, for the lack of a better word, _strange_ …

 

Though Paws did not start out strange…

 

Something happened to that poor cat. Something that loosely was connected with Murkoff, the Morphogenic Engine and the Walrider project.

 

And, even if it was an uncomfortable subject even now — it had been discussed since Miles had been seven-year-old — he knew he had to discuss it again with his father.

 

He realised he was still on the line and his father had been nice enough to stay quiet along with him being quiet, “Dad, some things have happened. Strange things. And, when you come. You may be really surprised. But don’t get scared.”

 

“You know that is scaring me a bit now, right?” Nathan spoke slowly and quietly, hitched breath. Then before Miles could say anything, “Alright. I will brace myself.”

 

The thing was, as Miles thought more about it, they had unexpectedly and inadvertently walked into the nest of all these strange creatures from the very beginning. Nathan Upshur was a veterinarian, animal behaviourist and a scientist. Miles had one part of his life grown up in New Mexico too, in Santa Fe. Then, after that one _incident_ and a year or two passed, his father had relocated to Florida with him though Miles was unhappy. He had liked living in close proximity to the county and in the state which house Roswell, as from a young age he liked UFOs. Yet, after that incident Nathan didn’t seem like himself in Santa Fe and was _eager_ , almost _too_ eager to leave. At the time, Miles had not really understood why and he had somewhat disliked hi father. His mother had died when he was around five or six years old and he had a closeness to his father that he had since his early 20s. Though, initially, he was mad with his father leaving their ranch-like home to go to Florida. His father had stated he had a very good business perspective there and that it was time to leave. Miles also wondered if his father just wanted to forget about his mother. Though, that wasn’t really the case. When his father went to Florida he had dated a man for a long time and Miles grew up with two fathers for a long time since he was around ten to he was about sixteen or seventeen until there had been a falling out with his father and his boyfriend. Thing was his father wanted to be married and have a family and his boyfriend was one of those people who wasn’t at the time very interested even if he was ironically in a family situation already raising Miles as one of his own. Miles had indeed grown accustomed to Ted as a parent but he was also sure that Ted had a finicky sort of nature so he didn’t say anything that would make his father feel unhappy. Then his father had been mostly by himself. Aside a few flings here and there and Miles felt actually sad for his father. It’s just he felt he deserved some happiness now as well.

 

From what he recollected and knew his father had always been loving and caring about his mother, Angela Roman, who kept her maiden name and that is why Miles had decided to legally have his name as Miles Roman Upshur. He remembered his mother had been a scientist as well and that she died because she suddenly became ill due to some asthma related disease and she couldn’t recover from it. It had nothing to do with her work or anything to do with Murkoff. Miles was relieved and happy. To think he had somehow encountered a portion of Murkoff when he was still a child made him feel completely ill at ease. It may had been a fluke but he is glad that he got to know about it.

 

He was stretched out on his bed, tired. The bed smelled of sweat and vomit and he hadn’t the energy or the time to change even though he was blanching at the stink. It was just, when Tim was around they shared the house or apartment responsibilities. Usually, he was ashamed to say, even Wallie was, that Tim did most of their house chores like some oppressed wife. And in some ways, he had been an oppressed wife who these two ‘guys’ didn’t listen to. Now, they could suffer the consequences of their actions. The loss of company, of a friend and also the loss of aid. Somewhere, he was also thinking about loss of life.

 

Ever since Murkoff came into the lens of his picture he had been so busy dedicating his life to expose this company that he has had a lot of problems keeping a social life or any life outside of work. There was that brief but intense, calm and kind relationship he had with Yesfir, which he had to fuck up because he was too distracted and a coward to not realise he should make things fully official. It’s not like he used her but he wasn’t completely fair to her. The fact she was even friends with him sometimes made him sad and always look apologetic. Though she had moved on and was in any pain anymore he was. Both by the fact he hurt her and the fact she could move on, not that he didn’t want her to, but he realised that Yesfir had a resilience and a potency for better things than he did.

 

Thinking about Yesfir, inadvertently brought him back to Waylon Kwang-Sun Park. His new love. Was it love? He couldn’t say it wasn’t. He couldn’t say what they have was only friendship because it wasn’t only friendship. What they had also had a romantic and intimate meaning. And, he missed him like anything. Wanted to feel him next to him like anything. Without completely knowing it, Miles started crying and he was sobbing and Wallie had to just look and restrain himself. Because he was slowly whispering: “Waylon…Waylon…”

 

Was it over before it started?

 

What if Waylon was dead?

 

Would them kissing intensely and intimately the first time near the water and fireflies, be just that? A memory?

 

NO!

 

He didn’t want to think like that!

 

He hasn’t caressed his body yet. Hadn’t made love to him.

 

He remembered Waylon saying he wanted to be top first.

 

The fact to Miles bottoming him like a top hearing Waylon lose it and cum all over was enough to make him feel a fire with him. And an erection. But it waned down as he was tired (some stray spurts).

 

Waylon was a reason for living.

 

But not the only reason.

 

He had himself.

 

Even if he was the host for the Walrider now he had a responsibility to himself and Wallie.

 

He had to improve his home (he remembered how messy it was) and he had to get more jobs. Write perhaps a book about his experiences in Mount Massive. Write some few OP ED pieces about heritage sites and their preservations and about endangered species before looking at the problems in mental health care facilities in general. He needed to read some more books, both fiction and non-fiction. Join a graphic designing class. Do some artwork — preferably abstract art works that also featured the Walrider and Rorschach blots and then dark sketches of sunsets and sunrises in deserts and cities. He would also like to join a poetry workshop for as Jeannette Winterson had stated a hard life needs a hard language, in concerns to why poetry was important and not pretentious or archaic, and he has had a hard life and could use that good old hard language. Wallie would possibly around. Right now, after living almost two years with the Walrider, he could not completely substantiate a life without him as he was his friend and not some toxic abuser. The thought of Wallie disappearing made Miles upset though he did not admit it so easily to Wallie because getting Wallie over a posterity that was always uncertain would be a crime. Then there would be better furniture and materials hopefully — perhaps, Miles was thinking, of going back to university for Math and Literature if possible. Or, get a MA in another subject. Then there would be traveling not for his life but both for knowledge and leisure. He wanted to visit Rome and he wanted to visit The Great Wall of China.

 

And, surely — Waylon would be there too. Then they probably would be married or close to it. Waylon’s children would be his children. Perhaps, they could get a surrogate and have children by her as well and they could also raise them alongside Waylon’s first kids. It would be fun and so wholesome; a life lived with the person he wanted to end up with, Waylon Kwang-Sun Park. They would go to places together. Waylon could do a PhD if he wanted, Miles would try his best to support him. It would be a blissful life mired in ordinariness and the extraordinary sense of finding your soulmate. They could go to hikes, take trips, climb mountains both literal and figurative. They could even start teaching each other their own skills. They could raise the kids as well. Nathan would be finally happy to be a grandfather to so many children of Waylon and Miles. And, it would be honest, pure and true — their disagreements, fights without abuse, conflicts that would challenge them and make them grow and of course the gestures of love, the kisses, the touches, the embraces, the lovemaking, the laughs, smiles, burps, hiccups and the merriment they all will be in together for the long haul. A slice of forever lived in mortality.

 

It seemed good to be true but it was the ordinary people underestimated so it was happy to grab us by our horns.

 

It would be nice knowing about it.

 

Even if they were repercussions of beating Murkoff they could still have that life in a secret somewhere.

 

That thought, of being with Waylon and also having his own life again, was reason to keep on fighting.

 

And, if he died?

 

Then he would be happy to know he did right by Waylon, Wallie, Eddie, Tim, Tom, Yesfir and the others. That he was able to do so. That he fought for the truth and fought for his passion. If he could give Waylon some peace near the end that would also be enough. So, this was all worth fighting for. He couldn’t waste time anymore. He had to get a move on. Make some progress that would get him closer to understanding Walriders and the larger plans Murkoff has.

 

Julian Kairos had also called to talk. Said it was urgent but…it had to done in a few days’ time.

 

Miles was ready to meet up with him.

 

Julian had not properly contacted them for a year. It seemed he had his plate full. Though, he did give some intel about Murkoff. The others knew that Murkoff litigators one Pauline Glick and Paul Marion had exhausted their efforts and resources to do the best damage control possible for the Mount Massive Fallout. Miles was also aware that Waylon’s video was meant to be taken with a grain of salt and critically because they had tarnished his name with bogus articles. Miles was furious when he did see that. Taken with the point he didn’t know Waylon was alive or not and seeing his good name being tarnished. This had led to a fight with Wallie but Tim had to shut things down saying it was not only about them. To take into fucking consideration what Waylon, if he knew this, was feeling.

 

Miles was also informed that a Roxie Harrell and a Dwight Parrish had been assigned to the case as well. There had been some unknown point of aggression between Marion and Glick — he knew this from Tom who told Tim and he had informed Miles and Wallie. Tom had stated that Julian had become more on the low-key ever since Glick and Marion were aggressively investigating Mount Massive and related concerns. They had for liaison and confidant one Sigourney Starling, who was also Eddie and Tom’s psychiatrist. Whatever was happening was big. Miles also felt somewhat slighted by Julian. It was if he knew that they were not mentally rigid at the moment to be contacted or was it really only low-key reasons? Still, Julian wanted to talk now and that also would expedite their investigations and their plans.

 

Miles knew that the plan was never to directly attack Murkoff but to slowly understand what their own agendas and research veered to so that evidence and exposition could be gathered and carried out. They needed support of trusted authorities and the masses. They also needed to understand what would and is going to happen to Wallie. Miles sometimes had a sick feeling in his gut if things would go south with Wallie. He hoped not. They have had time together and he didn’t want to feel that he had wasted any by bickering over the last year.

 

That would be a tragedy.

 

When the day and time arrived, Miles’s father slowly knocked at his door. It was dark inside and Miles preferred it that way. His father was shocked seeing he had lost weight badly, a bit of muscle mass too and that he looked gaunt. It looked he hadn’t eaten properly and was also not anytime wearing clean clothes or having a good old shower. His father helped Miles burn all the paper he himself had been using to fix his tremor handwriting. His father could notice signs of PTSD. Of Trauma. When Miles spoke of his inability to listen and read information for a while for the shock of being attacked and losing his companion, ally and friend (because calling Waylon a friend did not do all the justice).

 

His father almost had a screaming fit.

 

Wallie had to come out sooner or later and his father had to be splashed with a semi-clean glass of water to not shiver and shudder and basically lose it.

 

Miles stated briefly what happened in Mount Massive. “And, Wallie, is the Walrider…” Miles empathised, “But he is now so much more than a weapon. He is my friend and ally.”

 

“Great.” Nathan could hoarsely just state it, trembling, not knowing how to register everything, “My son now has the poltergeist experience first-hand with the TV static and all. All was left was for you to be sucked into the damn television set.”

 

“Let’s just get out of here, Dad.” Miles was not feeling too great and couldn’t appreciate the sardonic humour of his father —  a genetic linguistic inheritance or being sarcastic as a way to express feelings or hide fear — both father and son shared it.  

 

His father also owned a jeep. Miles was almost floored out on the back. The seats smelled nicer that the excuse of the bed. They had thrown out anything and everything that could identify him and they had left money inside the apartment that he owned to the owner. The shady neighbour, a Caucasian man who seemed to be in the business of making passports, was handed the letter for Tim, which he nodded to and wished them best. The road would be long. They were first supposed to go to Florida. That was where Miles’s dad still lived and Miles was partly from. Though Miles had been born in New Mexico. He was born in Santa Fe. Their old house was still under ownership of his father who leased it out to workshops and also rented it out to small families over the years.

 

“Dad…” Miles started.

 

“When we go back home, I will help you get fixed up.” His father seemed monotonous but Miles knew he was concerned, “We will see what we can do. If you need to leave the country and if that thingy-guy, that Wallie, can go with you. But don’t worry son.  I will help you out.”

 

“Dad, we need to go to the Santa Fe house.”

 

“What?” Nathan looked incredulously at him, “What are you talking about?”

 

“I need to know something and we need to go there.” Miles stated.

 

Miles’s eyes were what struck Nathan as he saw from the rear-view mirror, determined and becoming misty and smokey, a bit amber too. “Miles, we haven’t been there for a while, I mean I can’t suddenly tell the caretaker —“

 

“No one is living there right now, right?” Miles just asked.

 

“Well, yeah, no one isn’t…But Miles —“

 

“You do go and visit the property from time to time. The caretaker won’t suspect anything. I am sure Murkoff may have secretly stalked the place some time ago and bailed when I didn’t show. So, now is the opportune time. Let’s go there and you know what you have to tell me about Paws.”

 

The last statement made Nathan a bit unsettled, even Wallie could read a slight shiver in the body language, “Miles, I don’t think I remember much about the cat…”

 

“The fact you recall he is cat is proof enough you do remember him even if we have other cats.” Miles looked dead serious and his eyes glowed amber and smoke-dark.

 

“Miles, what the fuck? — your eyes?”

 

“Sorry, Dad, just another cosmetic trick due to the Walrider and I being joined.” Miles didn’t want to scare his father, “But I want, I _have_ to go there.”  Slowly touching his father’s shoulder who shivered slightly due to being uncertain with what was his son’s disposition, “ _Please_ , Dad. It is important and it related, in some fine small way to all of this as well.”

 

Nathan seemed to be in thought for a moment, “Alright, I am gonna call the caretaker to ready up the place. We are going.”

 

“Thank You, Dad.” Miles sighed relaxed and the Walrider sat next to him, inclined in a way so passing by cars won’t see him and be scared out of their wits. That they would probably mistake him for a reflection/refraction of light that their drowsy minds cooked up. Miles was tired. The car cushions felt softer and smelled nicer than the place he left. He just wanted to fall asleep and be in tune with the road while they kept on going to their journey in Santa Fe. If they stopped at any gas station Wallie was instructed to almost go inside Miles temporarily again. But that wouldn’t happen for some miles now.

 

Nathan was busy adjusting the radio. There were like gospels, paranoiac showcases and old country-westerns. At one of the gospel stations, Miles felt a weird tremor of static, an odd familiarity. It seems Wallie felt it too. They were talking about the Bible. Ezekiel to be exact.

 

“Miles…” Wallie felt his smokey form be a bit more static like. It was a good thing Nathan didn’t completely notice that his son and the Walrider looked a bit unsettled. It was the same feeling almost. The buzzing in the bones and his hair stood like pincushions.

 

But the station was adjusted again. Nathan just commented, “That stupid old station, with its gospels, way out in Arizona I heard. Always makes me a bit comfortable, and only God knows why. No one else feels it,” he sighs, “Could me be getting old or something.”

 

Then he kept on switching the stations until one of them caught Miles, “Keep that.”

 

“Huh, Patsy Klein? Alright.”

 

Miles remembered Waylon told him about his long ride to Colorado in a rented truck. Singing Patsy Klein. The account made him miss Waylon so deeply. He sobbed a bit and was glad his father, focusing on the road in the light rain that started, didn’t listen. But Miles fell asleep with a smile on his face and even Wallie napped with the sound of Patsy Klein singing _Walking After Midnight_ :

 

_I go out walkin' after midnight_  
Out in the moonlight, just like we used to do  
I'm always walkin' after midnight  
Searchin' for you  
  
I walk for miles along the highway  
Well, that's just my way of sayin' I love you  
I'm always walkin' after midnight  
Searchin' for you  
  
I stop to see a weepin' willow  
Cryin' on his pillow  
Maybe he's cryin' for me  
And as the skies turn gloomy  
Night winds whisper to me  
I'm lonesome as I can be  
  
I go out walkin' after midnight  
Out in the starlight, just hoping you may be   
Somewhere a-walkin' after midnight  
Searchin' for me  
  
I stop to see a weepin' willow  
Cryin' on his pillow  
Maybe he's cryin' for me  
And as the skies turn gloomy  
Night winds whisper to me  
I'm lonesome as I can be  
  
I go out walkin' after midnight  
Out in the starlight, just hoping you may be   
Somewhere a-walkin' after midnight  
Searchin' for me

 

 

“I know you don’t want to talk about him.”

 

“Miles,” His father’s hands were shaking, he could hardly keep still, “You are not explaining what is happening — what exactly is that thing? And, what is going on? You are now its host? This is something completely out of the Twilight Zone!”

 

“I am not an _it_ sir, I am kinda an androgynous _he_.” Wallie spoke a bit annoyed, “And, this is urgent. Miles wants to know something about a Paws.”

 

“That is…” Nathan looked at Miles, “Miles, that is one topic we don’t wanna wish to discuss. I told you it when you were a kid —“

 

“Dad, when you looked at Wallie.” Miles interrupted, there was a determined look to him, “You looked scared but it was like — it was like you were also looking at something familiar. Dad, this has to do with Paws, right? You have to tell me. What really happened to Paws? Like, he was my favourite cat around the cats you bought but he acted strange later on and you were reluctant to let me hang around with him —“

 

“It’s a good thing I had hired someone to take care of our house in Santa Fe.” Nathan looked around, “I know a couple lived here a while back too and the rent was good that I was giving it on. They left around three years ago. And the assistant has had people cleaning it up and keeping it. It’s a family home so I am reluctant to sell it. Even if the upkeep kind of becomes a bit expensive. Though…” he looked almost tired, “When you said we have to come back here, Miles, you were so adamant on it. I wish you weren’t. But I know someday this may happen. Call it dad’s intuition or scientist’s one or fate’s one. I just knew even if I ran away this thing about Paws was too scary but also too important. And, now we are here and now you got this thing call a Walrider. And, I am sure I think I saw something close to him, similar to him once, in a bad dream, that I was sure it was not a dream. And, now I am just too scared to even talk. Do we have to talk about this at night? It feel more scary, you know the atmosphere. But I guess you just need to know.” Then surveying Miles, “Then we need to do something about getting you into shape.” Looking caustically at Wallie, “You fuck…” a hoarse toned voice that surprised Miles and Wallie, “Did you do this to my son?”

 

“Not really.” Miles came to Wallie’s defence and for a while, they both realised how crucial that was, Wallie nodded and smiled as if to give Miles’s gratitude for the save, “I have not been well for a long time Dad. I have been angry at being pulled a fast one by Murkoff. They have taken away a friend of mine. Someone really close and then things that were once looking up all went to shit. I have other allies and friends who are also very hurt. I feel I can’t do shit. So, knowing this helps.” Miles looked very determined, “I need to catch up to Murkoff fast because there is no doubt the time I have been wasting in self-pity, anger, regret and also trying to get my bearings, Murkoff has either been trying their damndest to find me, monitor the situation, do damage in other places and not to mention if the person I care about, who is my friend and more, if he is still alive and what the fuck they are doing to him. I am scared Dad. I know what happened to Paws is also scary but trust me. It can’t be more scary than the reality I am facing right now. I need to be prepared Dad. Murkoff will either make me an experiment or kill me. To them the Walrider, Wallie is more important and I am expendable. This is real and intense and I just want you to know how horrible it actually is. It may be related, I feel it is related to Paws. It was from Volsung Pharmaceuticals right? They joined Murkoff and have an alliance with them a few years back though I feel they had some headway from the start so I really could use the information.”

 

There was a soft night wind from outside, ruffled the curtains. There was a chill that emanated in the room but it was gone, it was a soft breath like a ghost’s breath, as if to acknowledge some old bones would be unearthed. It was symbolic to Wallie too, as it reminded him of himself in the asylum and also what he wasn’t full anymore. “Paws was an intelligent cat since he was a kitten. I remember that he could always track down the ball even when his siblings couldn’t and he established meowing to communicate with me from an early period in his life. I really loved him a lot. He was an affectionate cat. He loved to make connections.” Almost a sob came out that surprised both Wallie and Miles, “What happened to him was inhumane and inhuman. It was just wrong Miles. I had no idea what fully happened but by the end of it that cat had fell off the deep end would be an understatement.”

 

“This sounds really serious.” Wallie had to whisper and only Miles seemed to hear but he nodded.

 

“Dad, I am sorry that if I seem to be pushing you.” Miles looked earnestly, “But, this is in one way related and it would be good for me to know.”

 

Nathan sighed.

 

For a moment, everything seemed just quiet. The clock was ticking and nothing else seemed to be making any noise. Wallie was just floating and sitting by Miles, in an angle that was relaxed yet attentive. Miles gripped his hands. He could feel the skin feel the pressure. There was a restlessness in him. Almost like time was running out. Yeah, he did do minor research in the time he was recuperating and still bitching at Wallie. Still, they could still have time with this valuable information. They could still make some things work. It just was hard not knowing where Waylon was and also harder knowing if he was alive and _what_ state he was alive in. Miles didn’t always want to think about it. Then there was also the chance if he snooped around too much earlier he would meet that leptosomatic nightmare again and he wasn’t ready for that dude right about now. He had to make things work. This was the lead, the thread, he needed. Seeing his father was also a researcher and a scientist would help facilitate his own investigations.

 

“Paws loved you, you know.” Nathan smiled and got their attention, “Paws was always curious, energetic and amicable. He was a perfect cat and also had some K-9 habits too. Sometimes, he would meow as though he was howling. And, he was quite inseparable from you. I knew the two litters of cats I got were all to do some humane research in conjunction with Volsung Pharmaceuticals. I was studying domestic feline behaviour and they wanted to help me out and had opted for some tests of their own. I should have known something was up. But, I guess when you think of the innocent you forget that immense cruelty can be dispensed upon them.” It almost like he needed a drink but there was none so some stale coffee had to do, “They took them to this facility. They were made to watch a film. It was just of some inked mice chasing mice. It looked all weird to me. After all the tests were done to examine their physiology, breed, sex, genetic markers and signs of any ailments. Then, surprisingly, they just made them watch that film with some tunes cats could hear. The cats were all…” Nathan suffered, “Hyperfocused on the film. I haven’t usually cats like that so attentive in line, It made me curious. Though, I guess my gut was saying something was going really out of it. I should have listened to it. Well, they did tests to the cats afterwards. They said they were done. Though, I sneaked in a peek to one of their folders saying that the cats did not ‘shown the necessary signs for the experiment to have been fruitful.’ I had no idea what that meant. Then. But what they did not anticipate, the naturally curious cat. Whatever they were doing infected Paws. I will say ‘infected’ because Miles what is was, was a disease. I have never _seen_ anything _like_ that happening to cat. God forbid it happen to anyone.”

 

Miles went quiet for a bit then spoke, “Is that the reason why you didn’t let me play with Paws for a while? And, Paws also seem to look at the television a lot?”

 

“You remember?” Nathan looked sad.

 

“I remember it was weird and that I couldn’t forget it.” Miles thought about it, “Even if I pushed it back on my mind. It’s like Paws became strange. He would sit in front of a no-channel TV at times when the reception was bad and just stare at it and meow slowly, at it.”

 

“That was the worst part.” Nathan shuddered, “When you were school and I was at home working I would see him meowing at the empty static. As though it was in a rhyme. It was seriously creepy and scary. I was seeing him stare at the static. His eyes, though brown would become amber and dark…” Nathan shivered, “Almost like yours Miles. It was almost like our cat was possessed. I gave all the cats away but Paws use to growl if I wanted to take him away or anything. Like he started to know if I had an intention like that. I didn’t know what to do him. This was going on for some months if you remember. And then that night happened, before he died…”

 

“Yes, you were adamant in not coming with you to the vet.” Miles remembered, “I was mad at you. I wanted to know what was happening.”

 

“Miles, even I couldn’t…” Nathan shivered more, and his hand trembled when he drank his black coffee, almost spitting it out, “Even I couldn’t understand what was happening. It was so out of everything I had ever known or seen! I woke up at around 3am to go get some water to drink and get ready for bed as I was working. I see Paws…Miles he was outside. And someone or _something_ was outside with him!”

 

“What do you mean?” Miles looked alarmed.

 

“I am telling you there was something out there with him. You know part of our backyard even now is a bit woody and forested and he was out there with something. It almost looked like…” Nathan gulped, “I fucking can’t even believe I am saying this. An _Alien_.”

 

“Are you serious?” Miles looked more amazed than shocked.

 

“Like, it may not be a fucking UFO completely. But it had a fucking smoky body like your damn Walrider but it wasn’t completely like it. It had eyes black, almost vacant. And a greyish black body. It had female sex organs I think. I could see some labia. And it stood there staring at Paws and Paws stared at it. Then Paws opened his mouth and a weird static meow came out in repetition and the thing opened its mouth and weird static came out of its mouth. I think I pissed myself Miles. I just went ran to my bed slowly locked the door in shock and wet my own fucking bed. After a few minutes, I heard a car or a truck and some voices but they didn’t bother with us much.” Nathan looked visibly disturbed and Wallie wondered how scared Miles’s father was when he saw this strange creature outside their house. Frankly, he, a Walrider, was also scared just listening to it. It didn’t seem something humans or even a Walrider like himself would normally face. It was something he wasn’t sure of.

 

That is when Wallie realised — there would be other creatures aside him and that red hooded being that he had to face. And, the thought was somewhat scary.

 

But — he looked at Miles and realised he had to be strong for him. He was his host and he was in a way his knight. They were in this together. For the worse and the better. It was a kind of platonic marriage even if accented by sexual breaks.

 

“Was it the next morning you found Paws twitching?” Miles put his face in his hands for a bit, “And you rushed to the vet?” He looked up.

 

“Yes, that’s exactly what I did. I told you that Paws was sick and I would be taking him to the vet. It was a day in summer so school was out and I sent you to a friend’s place. I knew you wanted to come but I didn’t let you. When I arrived at the vet, the vet said that Paws was in a kind of shock. That they had to stabilise him. They tried to do things but it didn’t work. They saw then Paws was bleeding…” Nathan paused. This seemed to be a hard part, he drank more of his coffee, he seemed disturbed even remembering the incident, “Paws was bleeding from his mouth and eyes. He still made a ticking meow noise laced in static. I think the doctor was so afraid that it was a new strain of rabies or something and said that Paws had to be put down. I couldn’t disagree; he was profusely bleeding. We put him on some monitors and decided to put in the injection. Paws kept on twitching and meowing a weird static, crackling meow. I think the doctor wanted him dead already. You know after this incident the doctor became uncomfortable around me, even his assistant. Both those men avoided me as if to avoid the topic or they thought I _did_ something to Paws. So, yes, they decided to even get the brain monitor patched up which was rare but they wanted to be sure.  And, they gave him the needle. But…” Nathan seemed to be frightened, his hands were trembling that even Wallie was really worried for him, “Even when Paws passed away and the bleeding finally stopped. The monitor flat lined. It seemed brain activity was still slightly there. And even through the heart monitor small, stretched out spikes, almost like an echo or a faint radio signal was emitted. None of us ever seen anything like it. And none of us were too eager to understand what was going on. The assistant just said it could be an error in equipment and plugged it off. The vet then decided to do an autopsy just one curiosity on why Paws was bleeding as though he was haemorrhaging. Well, we found…” Nathan drank some coffee and rubbed his face, “Miles, Paws had tumours in his brain and marks, like perfect cuts, we decided not to give a shit and the vet and his assistant just wanted me to take the body home and leave as soon as possible.”

 

“Were they tumours made out of lead.” Miles just stared.

 

“How did you —“

 

“Oh fuck, I should have known this thing was _not_ only since the 60s. It had some germination from since World War II, with Wernicke even around that time just not in this country.” Miles was overwhelmed with the information. Wallie seemed to understand the gist of it, after all he was Project Walrider and he had heard scientists talking about various Variant body problems. But a cat? It actually scared him a bit even though he could jump hosts possibly to animals. Though, it requires a lot of effort for now.

 

“Wernicke, that doctor you mentioned in the car? He is behind this too?” Nathan looked shocked.

 

“Well, yeah, maybe not so committed then but he did set the bare bones of this. Fuck, Paws…” Miles felt both fear and trauma and the accounts his father revealed. It sounded something out some body horror movie like _The Thing_ or _The Blob_ or something.

 

“Now you know why I couldn’t tell you when you were kid.” Nathan explained, “I mean I was traumatised by it enough to leave this house in Santa Fe after a year’s time. It just was too much for me Miles. What I saw. What happened. How could I explain it to you? This was something that went against things I knew even as a researcher and a scientist. Ever since that day I didn’t always take assignments by companies working with Volsung. I acted as though I just didn’t seem interested and Thank God, they didn’t persist on it. I just couldn’t work with them ever again. They did something to Paws. And, I didn’t know if I wanted to ever know. I just wanted to put it behind me as far as possible.” Then he chuckled weakly, “But, I guess you needed to know. And, I hope it brings clarity to the whole thing.”

 

“It seems they were testing Morphogenic Overlays on animals at first. Or, test running some of the developing engines’ capacities. Of course, they may have thought the situation with you and the cats were a failure so they moved on and succeeded in some other places…” Miles stated the last part slowly, “I wonder if they quickly went to human trials as well. If that is so…that guy I met…” He looks at Wallie, “That nightmarish guy is also one of them.” Wallie nods, “But, he may not only be the only one.”

 

“So, Murkoff and their affiliates have been busy.” Wallie stated out loud, “Nice to know I am in a long line of progress.” The sarcasm actually made Nathan chuckle and Miles took this as a good sign. “We were only able to somewhat surmise that Volsung could have some affiliations or did some test trials for Murkoff. But, if they had some success, there is a chance that Volsung and Murkoff are partners to a great extent.”

 

“Isn’t Volsung a Norse mythological reference?”

 

Miles looked at his father who looked ruminating as he spoke, “I was sure it was.”

 

“So is Walrider.” Miles looked at Wallie, “A sort of asymptomatically sexual incubus or succubus. That is where the word comes from anyway.”

 

“I guess your enemies are myth buffs.” Nathan seemed to be both worried and bored at the same time, “What a fucking irony when cruel people aestheticize cruelty.”

 

“I need to start working.” Miles told his father, “I need to look at any odd incidents around this area, Nevada, Arizona, Colorado, Utah, Wyoming, New Mexico and California. I think I need to look at these States first. They seem all interconnected in a way to something big. It all seemingly starts out in Los Alamos, New Mexico. Then, it seems to travel to Colorado. Though, congruent to Colorado is Arizona. And, Congruent to New Mexico is Utah. Gotta check those places first.”

 

“Miles, before you do anything, shower up, eat and take a day’s rest.”

 

“Fuck a day’s rest Dad! Murkoff is after me! I mean seriously it is after me and the only way I can beat them is to be better informed! And I told you about my friend being taken away! How he is kept hostage or even dead! I don’t know!” Miles was losing it — his eyes was becoming black with amber irises.

 

“Miles!” Wallie grabbed him, “Control yourself!”

 

But Nathan decided to stay calm, “You acting like this won’t help him. And, don’t say he is only your friend.” Nathan almost snapped that part out, “I can clearly see he means more to you. When you talked about him.” Then softly, “You are in love with him, aren’t you?”

 

Miles stopped.

 

He just looked at his father.

 

All these feelings and emotions.

 

And, he was waiting for someone to just ask him.

 

“Yes.” He confessed, that sweet confession, “Yes.” Another affirmation, “I love Waylon Kwang-Sun Park.”

 

But then he felt a deep sadness, “But…I…” he sobbed, “I couldn’t protect him Dad. I am useless. Even with Wallie I am useless.” And he just burst out crying.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, Miles admitted it. It was starting from before and now he can say it to his Dad. He loves Waylon Kwang-Sun Park. And, wonder what and how Waylon gonna realise his feelings? Will he finally get quickly back to Miles? Well, stay tuned.


End file.
